


The Heaven That I Seek

by deadcourf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1940s AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Homophobic Language, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcourf/pseuds/deadcourf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the year 1940. Dean Winchester, a young graduating senior, is trying his best to enjoy the summer while dealing with troubling family issues. After he sneaks off for a bit of summer romance, Dean returns to little old Kansas and meets an unexpected outsider. Castiel Novak, new to the neighborhood from a small town in Tennessee, sweeps Dean off of his feet only weeks before Dean enters his final year of high school. They are living proof that love exists in all forms. An unexpected death sends the two lovebirds spiraling towards disaster, and their summer love turns into forgotten memories that lead to long nights, huge quarrels, and heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

 

“No, Lisa,” a deep voice chuckled, “I need to leave now or I’ll miss my train ride home. Wouldn’t want my dad to find that empty bed and closet, now would we?”

Lisa, gripping the lapels of her boyfriend’s heavy leather jacket, pouted, her lips puckering for one final kiss.

“Do you really have to go so soon?” she whispered along his jaw, tears budding at the corners of her eyes.

Dean, the boy gazing down at Lisa’s olive-skinned complexion, sighed exasperatedly. “It’s my goddamn father, Lis. He won’t let me anywhere near you, so I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

She nodded slowly, stepping back from Dean’s outstretched arms. Neither of them wanted to separate, but what had to be done would be done.

The train station was bustling with people coming and going from mysterious destinations. Dean had always been fascinated by places like this where all sorts of people came together with one common goal: to either arrive or leave, to say hello or goodbye, to love or to mourn. It sent chills down his spine as he thought about it. The last call for his ride whistled like a wailing siren. He stepped forward to plant a final kiss on Lisa’s glistening cheek, and then hopped into the cart where he would be sitting for the next four hours.

Through the open window by his seat, he heard Lisa call out shakily, “You better write to me every day, Dean Winchester!”

He smiled sadly, nodding a silent promise as the train chugged down the tracks.

Lisa debated on whether or not to chase the window by Dean’s seat, but decided not to in the end. She could just barely make out Dean pressing his nose to the window to watch as she, standing firmly by the tracks, grew smaller and smaller. Before his bright green eyes blinked out of sight, she could have sworn she saw a few tears escape onto Dean’s quivering cheeks.

There was a sharp pain in her chest. She hated being away from his soft touch and rough features. If only her family hadn’t moved her so damn far away, then they wouldn’t be in this mess. Lisa wished he could love her as much as he used to, but she knew that there was always a longing in his heart that wanted a simple relationship, one that didn’t hold so much anxiety and disappointment.

Back in the cart, Dean slumped against his seat. Closing his eyes, he sighed as the last tear fell to his lap. He wiped his face clean of the salty rivers.

“You should do as the lady says and start writing. Girls like her don’t like waiting too long, if you ask me,” a voice drawled from Dean’s left.

Startled, he turned to meet the eyes of a stranger with a pressed suit and tie and matching suitcase. Dean smirked at the man’s attire and compared it to his own crisp leather jacket and lightly used slacks. His hat was slipping past the crown of his head, and he moved his hand to steady it. The brim fixed itself just above the tops of his brows, giving his eyes a mischievous gleam. They sparkled with curiosity. For some reason, this man flipped a switch in Dean’s mind that sensed something…unique.

“I guess not, but I think her and I bother know that there won’t be any more messages passed between us,” Dean mumbled, settling back into his seat. He fidgeted until he found the most comfortable position, his eyes roaming the line of trees whistling past his window.

“So, Dean Winchester is it?”

Dean rolled his head lazily to squint as the nosy stranger.

“Well?” the man said impatiently. “Is it?”

Dean was taken aback by the sharp tone of the stranger’s voice and sat up straight against the rough fabric of the seat cushions to get a better look at the guy. What Dean had sensed as a bit “off” was rather cool and collected. The guy looked to be Dean’s age, 17, maybe a year or two older, but there was this air of authority surrounding him that had thrown Dean off.

“Yeah, it is. And just who are you?”

“Castiel Novak,” he straightened against his seat, fumbling with the hat by his feet, “Your father is John Winchester, right?”

“Um, yeah, but how would you-”

“He works for my uncle, Zachariah Novak. Uncle Zach has told us nephews and nieces about you Winchesters plenty of times.” The subtle twang in his voice desperately wanted to creep through the shadows, but Castiel struggled to water it down with sophistication. It made Dean’s stomach bubble with laughter.

“If you’re a Novak, then what are you doing in Illinois?” Dean asked, rotating so he could face his new train companion fully. “My dad told me your family lives down in Tennessee.”

“I’m passing through from New York. I’ve had a long few days journey and I’m headed to visit Uncle Zach in Kansas. I assume that’s where you’re headed as well?” Castiel was straining to speak proper English, but he was spiraling downhill fast. Dean bit back his laughter at the failed attempt.

“Wow, New York. What were you doing there?”

“Last year my mother had me shipped off to New York University to study science. She insisted that I become either a genetic specialist or medical officer,” Castiel rolled his eyes, licking his lips. There was a slight pause between them, pushing Castiel to fill in the awkward silence. “I consider it a boring profession. Literature, on the other hand, is something I’d really love to study. Emerson, Hawthorne, even the Bronte sisters here and there. I wish I had flown the coop and studied that instead.”

Dean didn’t know why he bothered listening to Castiel talk endlessly about his unfulfilled dreams. For some reason, he was interested in the lean southern boy, but he didn’t know why yet. Maybe it was the friendly aura that surrounded him, or the sense that Dean could trust Castiel with anything.

He dropped his head to the side, the scratchy cushion softening the blow. “So why didn’t you?”

“What?” Castiel replied absentmindedly. He hadn’t realized what he just said had been said out loud.

“Why didn’t you ditch the university and settle for something else? She couldn’t know what you’re up to when you’re so far away. Why didn’t you chase your dreams?” Dean knew he had crossed into murky waters when Castiel’s face darkened with surprise. His eyebrows scrunched below the short bangs that were spotted with beads of sweat. The deserted cab they were sitting in was starting to steam from the blossoming heat of the oncoming summer. Dean’s jacket was heavy on his shoulders, so he slipped it off before he got too hot. Castiel was quiet as Dean tucked his jacket onto the seat across from his next to his bag, which was bursting at the seams with clothes.

“You’d be surprised what she knew, my mother,” Castiel whispered, shifting his torso so he faced the other direction.

“Personal problems, I get it,” Dean nodded. Picking at the loose threads of the seat, he whispered, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

He hadn’t visited for long, but Dean had packed every decent piece of clothing he owned. He knew that he would have to dress the part in order to impress Lisa’s parents. She had mentioned that her father wasn’t very keen toward Dean because of his family’s background, particularly his father, and how Dean was a bad influence on Lisa. As she explained this, Dean tried to stifle his temper, his hands curled into fists and his cheeks flushed. It infuriated him how some people assumed that he was just like his father when he most certainly wasn’t. He had lived his whole life making sure of it.

“Are you alright?” Castiel’s soft voice purred.

Dean snapped back to reality and cleared his throat. “Fine, I’m fine.”

He shifted in his seat so that his back was pressed against the window on the side of the cart. Now he had a full view of Castiel, which gave him the opportunity to better observe the well-dressed stranger. Castiel’s suit was tailored, but there was a button missing on his waistcoat. Dean’s eyes slid to the right, examining the suitcase’s clamp that barely met at the close. _Looks like he’s packed about as much as I did,_ he noted. The silence that hung between them was deafening while Dean contemplated whether or not he _was_ fine. Sitting there in the quiet, he realized that there wasn’t a simple answer.

Dean wasn’t alright, and his situation with Lisa was enough proof. Her father didn’t want her seeing Dean because he was a bad influence, Dean’s own father thought he was a bad influence… hell, Dean was surprised the whole world didn’t think he was a bad influence.

His father was the real reason behind all this, not even deserving to bear the title of father. There wasn’t an ounce of parental instincts in John Winchester’s body. He was a hopeless drunk that had nothing better to do than beat Dean senseless if one little thing went wrong, and Dean always took the blame. He could never let his little brother, Sam, be the victim of punishment. And he could never tell anyone because they would never understand. His dad had been through a lot, and this was his method of sifting through the agony.

“Are you sure about that?” Dean blinked at the sound of Castiel’s voice. It surprised him once again. He still hadn’t a clue as to why he was talking to Castiel, although he wasn’t much of a stranger anymore. He was related to his father’s occasional business partner, which Dean supposed was as close to family as he would ever get.

“I’m perfectly fine, just thinking,” Dean replied, staring off into space as the train sped along.

The engine purred as the next station grew closer. Both boys had a long wait ahead of them that would most likely be spent in silence. Dean wished he could think of more things to discuss, but he didn’t know how to say half of what he wanted to.

He wondered if he would see Castiel again during his little vacation, or whatever it was, in Kansas. Zachariah didn’t live too far down the road from the Winchesters, so it was possible Dean could make at least one friend over the summer. His heart lightened at the thought of having someone to talk to besides his brother. Dean wasn’t one for making a lot of friends. Benny was the only exception, but he had moved away years ago.

 Dean didn’t realize he was smiling until Castiel chuckled. It caught him off guard, as did most of Castiel’s actions, it seemed, and Dean turned to face his – hopefully – new friend.

“Problem, Novak?” Dean asked, with a slight edge to his tone.

“Not at all, Winchester,” Castiel retorted playfully. But in a second, the smile was gone and his eyes darkened. “Just remembering an old memory, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

There was something in Castiel’s eyes as he turned to face the scenery beyond the window. Remorse, that was it, Dean decided. He was eighteen at the least, and he already looked as if he had this deeply intense regretful sorrow that plagued his mind at the slightest triggering memory. Dean puckered his brow and snuggled up into the corner of the seat, trying to relax and sleep before they arrived at their destination. Soon he was fast asleep, with Castiel’s eyes resting lightly on the delicate rise and fall of Dean’s chest. He turned to face the window again, a small tear rolling down his cheek

**٭**

The sun was shining hotly as the train creaked to a stop at the Kansas City Station. Waiting at the little building where tickets were purchased was a tall man in a black suit. He wore a Stetson on his head to match, both hands shoved into his pockets.

Dean awoke to the brakes screeching against the wheels. His hand immediately flew to his back pocket where he kept his Swiss army knife. He rarely carried it around – it mostly lived under his mattress – but being so far away from home made him antsy. When he realized that it was only the train, he relaxed into his seat. He gathered his jacket in his right arm, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Castiel was already moving down the aisle in the cart in front of theirs toward the exit that was closest to his uncle, who stood very still at the ticket booth.

Dean squinted outside in search of Sammy, but he was nowhere to be found. _Little bastard forgot to pick me up,_ he cursed, shaking his head disappointedly. Dean had trusted his little brother to keep his mouth shut and pick him up when he got home. Sam had known the date, time, and place, so his not showing up meant that John knew. Dean swore under his breath and stormed towards the exit. He hopped onto the platform and jogged over to the small building to check the time. When he reached the front window, he leaned in to read the clock.

3:45 PM. Sam was fifteen minutes late.

“So I’m dead meat,” Dean mumbled. He slid off the counter and slumped against the side of the building. He was sweltering under the sun that was slinking towards the horizon and glad he hadn’t put his jacket back on. Castiel was talking with his uncle adjacent to where Dean stood. Dean couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their hushed conversation.

“Did your mother mention why she sent you here?” Zachariah questioned, but he seemed to already know the answer.

“Yes, she did. She tried to do it without freaking out, but you know Naomi. When it comes to subtlety, there isn’t anyone who is worse at it than her,” Castiel smiled sarcastically. He sounded distant even though he was standing no more than ten feet away from Dean. He wondered where Castiel’s mind was as he spoke.

“I can’t deny that. Now let me grab your things and we can get going. Anna and Gabriel are waiting for you at the house.”

There was no witty answer. Was Castiel too tired to reply, or was something else holding him back. Dean had painted a lovely relationship between uncle and nephew, but that short interaction had proved him wrong. There was a sense of quiet hostility between them, a dirty secret that overpowered them both. Zachariah was obviously afraid of upsetting Naomi, who must be Castiel’s stepmother from the way he mentioned her by her first name, and Castiel had a bubbling hatred for them both. They were suffocating him somehow, and Dean was determined to find out why. What was Castiel’s dirty little secret?

“Dean? You haven’t left yet?” Castiel had followed his uncle around the corner and nearly bumped into Dean.

“What?” Dean stuttered as he righted himself in Zachariah’s shadow. “No, my brother forgot to come pick me up, I guess. I might have to walk home, but that’s alright. See you around.”

He started to walk away, but Castiel stopped him by the shoulder, saying, “No, that must be a long walk. Come with us? We can squeeze one more passenger in the car, can we not, uncle?”

Castiel, one hand still gripping Dean’s shoulder, reached out towards Zachariah, who flinched away at his nephew’s touch. His neck was stiff and his back muscles arched tensely. However, in a second the tension had disappeared and was replaced with a southern hospitality. He smiled at the pair of boys.

“Of course, we can always fit one more, Castiel.”

Castiel beamed at his uncle with a smile that had Dean blushing like a school girl. He cleared his throat and turned away from those bright blue eyes to grab his bag from the stone floor. The Novak’s led the way to their parked buggy as the trio weaved in and out of the large crowd gathering around the platform. _Must be another train pulling in soon_ , Dean figured.

He observed the worried and stressed faces along the side of the railroad while he followed Castiel and Uncle Zach. _Mr. Novak_ , Dean corrected himself. He barely knew these people, yet he was already comfortable acting like they were family. After he thought for a moment, Dean decided that they could be something like family if he gave them the chance. Zachariah was a little stiff, but Castiel sure was a swell enough guy to get along with.

The Novak’s car was a fine Chrysler Windsor Highlander. Dean let out a low whistle as he ran his fingers lightly over the metallic cerulean hood. Mr. Novak eyed Dean’s wandering hands as the Winchester boy admired every aspect of the ritzy vehicle.

From the minute Zachariah saw the kid, he could tell he was no good. He hoped that his nephew could keep his distance from Dean as best he could before they developed any kind of relationship.

Slamming the driver’s door woke Dean from his fantasy of cruising in this baby, and he hurried to slip into the back seat. Castiel sat shotgun and nudged his uncle sharply when Dean tracked dirt onto the newly cleaned floor mats. Zachariah grumbled a bit, but didn’t mention anything. He shot Castiel a warning look, and the head of tousled nearly-black hair shied away to face the passenger window. The car was filled with silence as the engine revved towards the Winchester house in Lawrence, Kansas.

**٭**

When the Chrysler ambled up the driveway leading to the Winchester house, Dean couldn’t be any more grateful. The ride had been awkward, to say the least, and Castiel had tried to fill the silence with small talk. Dean was happy to talk with his new friend, but the heavy weight of Zachariah’s stare in the rearview mirror cut off Dean’s responses midway. It was obvious that Zachariah didn’t like Dean, which Dean understood. He was a Winchester, yes, but that didn’t mean he acted like one.

He wondered if Zachariah could see in Dean’s eyes that there was no hope for him, and that was why he didn’t want that sort of influence on Castiel. The Novak nephew had something going for him. There was more potential in his pinkie than there was in Dean’s entire body.

Dean sighed as the car screeched to a halt at his front porch, grabbed his bag and stepped out onto the dirt pathway. He tipped his hat to the two and dipped a little in gratitude. Castiel rolled his eyes, his arm hanging against the side of the car. He squinted at Dean through the bright sunlight, his eyes trying to get a read off Dean one last time. Dean wondered if he would ever see Castiel again, but by the glowering stare Uncle Zach was giving him, figured that was never going to happen.

“Thanks for letting me hitch a ride, Mr. Novak. Pleasure to meet you, Castiel.” Dean nodded again before jogging up the porch steps to the screen door that hung lazily in the summer heat.

There was a hushed argument brewing in the kitchen, and Dean wished he could tip-toe quietly to his room before John exploded at him. It was unavoidable, but for a second Dean thought he could beat the odds. The sound of wheels crunching on the pebbles in the driveway must have startled the arguing pair in the kitchen because suddenly the only audible noise was the light breeze rustling the curtains. Dean cursed silently at Zach. He could practically see him smirking smugly as he put the car in reverse.

 _Damn it, Cas._ He closed his eyes while he waited for the footsteps to storm into the front room. When he opened them, John was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Sam cowering at the railing along the balcony.

“I thought you were in the kitchen,” Dean wondered aloud.

“No, we were in your brother’s room discussing a few things. I figure you’ll want to explain yourself?” John asked, with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Dean quickly thought he could make up some story about staying over at Ash’s house while Sam studied, or something along those lines. Then he realized that Sam had been staying at a friend’s house over the weekend while Dean was at Lisa’s. He sighed and prepared for the worst because his father was not going to like what he was about to hear. Dean threw his bag onto the table, earning a furious look from John, and sat down on the seat closest to him. The more comfortable he was while his father yelled at him, the better.

“I went to visit Lisa,” Dean mumbled, dragging his hand over his eyes.

Once the words flew past his lips, John was in an outrage. Papers went flying everywhere as he swept his large hands across the kitchen table, pounding them on the hard surface to grab Dean’s full attention. But Dean was so used to this treatment that all he could do was lift his head calmly to meet his father’s glistening eyes.

There was no point in arguing or getting upset because the outcome was always the same. His punishment was either a slap to the face or getting locked in his room for the night every goddamn time, no matter what he said. There was nothing he could do to save his ass when John was this upset, which always took a turn for the worse when there was alcohol in his system. Luckily, today, there wasn’t.

“Dean Winchester, did you not hear me when I told you not to go running after that girl?” John growled. “She moved, left you behind, but you didn’t let that stop you. Why? When a girl like that leaves, you know that there’s no saving what you had.”

Dean leaned forward to put in his two cents, but John’s knuckles grazed his cheek before he could utter a single word. A soft gasp could be heard from the top of the stairs, catching John off guard. He never hit Dean in front of Sam, not if he could help it. This must have been the first time that Sam was even fully aware of the abuse Dean put up with in regards of his father.

Usually when Dean walked by Sam’s room with a black eye or a bruised lip, he muttered a lie or two about a fight at school, or messing around with the guys at the general store. It was nothing serious, according to Sammy, but now he knew the truth. Knowing that Sammy would now have to look at his father as an abusive drunk broke Dean’s heart. He wished it didn’t have to be this way.

“You know, _dad_ , not everyone is like mom, alright? Just because she left you don’t mean that every girl is going to-”

Dean was cut off by another smack across the face, except this time it was aimed at his jaw. He rubbed the tender spot gingerly while Sammy bounded down the stairs to rush to his brother’s aid. Dean motioned for him to stay where he was. There was no need to have Sammy so close to their father when he was in a dangerous mood. If Sam took another step, he would be in arm’s length of the man who wouldn’t hesitate, in his red-hot rage, to lash out at his other son.

He was blinded by the frustration and pain dumped on him by his ex-wife, Mary, who had left him behind for a better life, one not overrun by an alcoholic who beat his children.

The moment when Mary walked out on his father was still etched deep into the folds of Dean’s mind. Although he was young, Dean could see the absolute agony that flooded his mother’s eyes as she begged him to grab Sammy and run with her. But there was something inside of Dean that told him John needed the two young boys more than his mother did. John was a broken man, and if anything could keep him alive as he drank his life away, it was his two kids.

_“No, mommy,” Dean had whispered. “Daddy needs me and Sammy. He needs you, too. Where are you going, mommy?”_

He had reached out to push the stray blonde curls from Mary’s face as she let a few tears escape down her cheek. She had kissed him shakily on the forehead, smoothing away the tiny droplets that rolled down his nose with the pad of her thumb. Without another word, she had gone and Sammy had been crying hysterically in his crib on the second floor. Dean knew he had to check on his little brother and tell him that everything would be fine. Even though Sammy was only six months old, he would watch his four year old brother in complete awe every time he spoke. Sometimes, it looked as if Sammy regarded Dean as the best superhero the world could ever ask for. And in some ways, he was.

Another slap woke Dean from his reverie, and Sam lunged at his father before another hit was made. Dean, his nose finally bleeding, yelled at Sam to stay back, but the thirteen year old was energized by the fierce adrenaline pumping through his veins. Suddenly, Sam was pouncing on his father’s back, pounding at his head and any other vulnerable part he could get his hands on. Before John could throw his son to the ground and give him a taste of what his older brother normally got, Dean the superhero snatched Sam from John’s grasp and tugged him towards the staircase.

“Go, Sammy! Go to your room and lock the door. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

Sam nodded and with one last glance at his steaming father ran to his room. His staccato footsteps faded away as he finally got his hands on the doorknob, his fingers fumbling with it until the door swung open. Dean closed his eyes and sighed in relief. As long as Sammy was safe, everything would be fine. At least, for the younger brother it would be.

John was silent behind Dean, and he braced himself for another swing or two. The blows would come harder now that Sammy was tucked away under his covers and out of harm’s way. Dean’s skin prickled in anticipation for the sharp pain, but it wasn’t coming. He turned hesitantly to face his father, who was slouched in the seat where Dean had been no more than a minute ago. He face was in his hands, and a slight tremor shook his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, son. I’m so s-sorry, son. I’m just s-s-so,” John blubbered.

Dean sighed, walking over to his father and laying a hand on his forearm. The alcohol had finally left his system it seemed although Dean didn’t know there had been any to begin with. Now there was only a painful headache that would last for hours on end and not seem to ever leave his pulsating temples.

There was a special routine Dean had for this phase of alcoholism for his father. He filled a glass with water from the tap and gave it to his father. Once he forced John to gulp down the entire glass, a bath was drawn cold enough to startle John from his warm slumber. Then Dean hoisted his father out of the bathroom, past Sam’s wary eyes, and into his bedroom to lay him down for a nap. It was foolproof, and Dean had perfected it over the past few months.

When John was still sitting in the bath, Dean strolled down the hallway to stop by Sam’s room. He poked his head in to see his brother sitting in the far corner with his head bent at his knees. At the sound of Dean’s shoes scratching against the wooden flooring, which was desperately in need of a polishing, Sam lifted his head. His eyes were puffy from his silent crying, but seeing his brother tore him apart. Sam dried his face, leaning his head on the wall. He sighed and closed his eyes, sucking in deep breaths to calm his nerves.

“Could really go for a cigarette right now,” he chuckled with a small smile.

Dean huffed and pushed himself into his brother’s cramped excuse of a room. There were clothes scattered everywhere, along with several books and scraps of paper. He had always thought of his brother as a sharp, organized kind of kid, but by the looks of his room Sam was the complete opposite. He motioned for his brother to scoot over so he could join him on the floor.

Sam obliged while trying to fix his hair, which was starting to grow out too much. Dean was always trying to get him to go the barber’s, but the stubborn boy was beginning to feel sentimental over his long locks. He had said that it “ _felt like a wall around him, warm and safe_ ”. Dean understood, but it made him worry even more.

“Cigarettes will kill you, Sammy,” Dean scorned him sternly. “Don’t tell me you’ve been smoking any lately.”

“N-no,” he stuttered, suddenly interested in the mess that was his room.

He crawled over to the nearest pile of clothes and started to fold them into a neat stack. Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s terrible lying attempt, but got up anyways to help him clean his room. It would have taken hours if Sam was to do it himself. However, with Dean’s help, it only took twenty minutes. They chatted for a while during their work about Sam’s studies, and how he dreamed to be a lawyer one day.

“What sort of lawyer?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, I’m not really sure. Maybe” – Sam’s hesitation stopped Dean mid-fold – “one dealing with child abuse or something.”

Dean coughed, rubbing his thumb over the raised print of the book he had picked up. In an instant, he hated his father. Most importantly, he hated that Sammy had to see what was done if Dean put one toe out of line. Their father’s attitude towards Dean _could not_ – no, _would not_ – affect how Sammy lived his life. His little brother was going to escape this hell hole and make a dandy living for himself. Dean would make sure of that, even if it killed him.

He muttered a few words of admiration toward Sam, expressing his pride in his younger brother. When Dean had to leave to drag their father from his bath, Sam had the tiniest pep in his step.


	2. Two

 

A week had gone by and everything was peaceful, for the most part, in the Winchester house. John had settled down after the alcohol had drained from his system, giving Dean a week of smooth skin after his cuts had healed. He made sure that if anyone asked at the garage, where he and his father worked together, that he had a solid back story that would cover John’s ass.

It was a hard to come up with something different every time, but after a while Dean had started to repeat his excuses. No one ever really remembered nor did they ask as much over time. He figured that some of his neighbors might know the real reason behind the bruises, but they didn’t dare mention a word of it to anyone. John’s fury spread like wildfire if he was criticized on his parenting, and no one wanted to tickle him the wrong way.

Dean had spent the week at the Winchester Auto Repair Shop, submersing himself in his work, while Sammy spent his days at Barry Cook’s house. If Sammy wasn’t a class-A nerd, then Barry Cook was definitely. They were inseparable during the summer time.

The Cooks were a wealthy family up the street that had been friends with the Winchesters from the start, before Mary had left. They treated Sam like family, and whenever Dean dropped by to pick up his younger brother they were sure to welcome him into their home as well. From the outside they seemed like a happy family, but the stories Sam told Dean about Barry were worrying for a kid at thirteen. Dean wanted to say something about it to his father, but there wasn’t any use. He would be telling a story with an ending much like his, sans the child abuse.

The shop was open until five on Fridays, and Dean was itching to pick up Sam at Barry’s an hour before his shift was over. Friday nights were normally spent at the Harvelle Roadhouse with Jo, a friend of Dean’s, and others from the neighborhood. He couldn’t wait to kick back his feet at the counter and wrap his lips around a cold bottle of beer. It was his end-of-the-week reward, and the only time he let alcohol burn through his veins.

Dean’s experienced alcoholism first-hand, and he wasn’t ready to let himself slip into the addiction, for Sammy’s sake and his own. So a beer or two was saved for Friday nights and Friday nights _only_. The last hour of work consisted of Dean drooling over the thought of the ice cold beer in his hands, and Jo at his side, while their new jukebox played some cheesy tunes like Glen Miller.

The chugging of a rotten engine hauling ass into the shop’s lot woke Dean from his daydream. He slipped off his chair and landed with a thud by a tool box, just barely missing a pack of nails on the way down.

Dean squinted through the afternoon haze at the familiar car and smiled at its driver. He waved for the customer to pull forward a bit so the jalopy was completely in the garage. The old thing wheezed and hummed under the strain of gliding over the raised concrete. In the distance, a deep ringing could be heard from the center of town. Once, twice, eventually five times it gravely tolled, but Dean couldn’t care less. He had nearly forgotten about Cas, and it was damn good to see his mug again.

“Hey, um, Castiel, right?” Dean stuttered.

The tuft of dark hair was growing thick over his eyebrows, but his bright blue eyes were still visible. They sent chills down Dean’s spine as they twinkled when Castiel smiled. “Yes. That would be my name.”

Dean noticed his elegant speech had returned. No doubt due to the fact that _Uncle Zachariah_ must be on his ass all day long about the southern twang slipping onto his tongue. The proper mannerisms just weren’t fitting to Castiel. There was something about the way his lips formed that southern lilt at the end of each word that gave Dean goose bumps on the train ride over, but he hadn’t noticed he had them until they were gone.

“Well, what can I do for you, Castiel? Your ride sounds like crap, so I’m guessing that’s why you stopped by.” Dean circled the car while he spoke. “Unless you came to see me, of course.”

“No, I assure you it was for the car repair, only,” Castiel chuckled softly, licking his lips.

“Right,” Dean nodded. “I’ll give her a once over if you would turn the engine off and step out of the driver’s seat.”

Castiel nodded and obliged to Dean’s commands. He tossed Dean the keys while making himself comfortable on the bumper of a slick Cabriolet. He watched as Dean got to work examining the parts of the part that he didn’t even know existed. The mechanic’s hands were tender with the engine, picking out specific nuts and bolts from the machine. Dean was up to his elbows in oily tubes and silver pieces from under the hood.

When he finally resurfaced, his face and forearms were covered with sticky black grease. The sludge smeared across his cheeks when he rubbed a filthy rag across his skin. Castiel cringed at the mess and leaned further back on the car when Dean ambled over to where he sat.

“Be careful with her. That’s my baby,” Dean warned, waving towards the Cabriolet. “This poor thing has a faulty crankshaft. Sounds bad, but it’ll be an easy fix.”

“Oh, um, great,” Castiel blinked away his obvious confusion, but his eyes gave him away.

“This isn’t the car that you drove me home in last week,” Dean observed. “Whose is it?”

“Our neighbor’s.”

Dean smirked, biting his lip while he thought of how he could drag out this job as long as possible. He figured that the longer the car stayed in the shop, the longer Castiel would stick around. The kid obviously had no car smarts, so this could be fun for Dean. “You don’t know much about cars, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “I just thought that because of your uncle you would at least know the basics.”

Castiel squirmed against the trunk. He wouldn’t reach Dean’s eyes, and eventually moved from his spot as the awkward tension in the air intensified. Dean panicked. _Did I say something?_ He wanted to ask Castiel if he had said something that upset him, but the blue-eyed boy spoke before Dean opened his mouth.

“Will it take long?” Castiel asked, circling the car with his teeth gnawing at his thumbnail.

“Um.” Dean turned around and went to check the calendar that hung by the door to the office. He saw that tomorrow and the next day he was free, but his dad was coming in for the next shift in an hour. John would probably take over and fix the crankshaft in less than a minute, but Dean wanted this to be his priority and only his. “You can come by again tomorrow. I can fix her up then. My shift ended a few minutes ago and I have plans tonight. Does tomorrow work for you?”

Castiel sighed. “I suppose.”

“You’ll have to leave her here overnight. I don’t want you driving with all that rattling. A faulty crankshaft is the cause for a lot of accidents, you know,” Dean tried to act casual while he lied through his teeth.

He just wanted an excuse to drive Castiel home. When he had given the calendar a cursory glance, he thought of the perfect plan. He would mention Harvelle’s bar and offer him dinner as a welcoming gift. Dean prayed that Castiel would say yes, because he wanted a chance to get to know him better. If they were going to live in the same town and see each other often, Dean wanted to make sure that it was by their own free will and not forced.

“Could I borrow your telephone so I can call my brother to come pick me up then?” Castiel brought Dean back to the present, wide-eyed and embarrassed that he had caught Dean spaced-out.

“No need. Let me drop you off.” Dean grabbed a fresh towel from the drawer he had been leaning against. He hastily wiped the grime from his face as he used the office window like a mirror.

“Dean, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Cas, please. It’s my treat, alright? Look at it as a “welcome to the neighborhood” kind of thing.” Dean grabbed his lunch bag from a small refrigerator and his keys that hung on the wall next to it. Castiel sighed again, and Dean wondered if it was a nervous habit. Either way, it stressed Dean out, because he didn’t know if it was because of him.

“You know what,” Castiel decided, “That’s sounds nice.”

“Great.” Dean grinned from ear to ear. He nodded towards the Chevy and Castiel followed in suit.

Dean tossed his bag onto the backseat and slumped behind the wheel, tired from a long day of work. He loved the shop, but hunching over the engine or being cramped underneath the body of the car all day was strenuous. John worked him hard, which Dean was grateful for. It provided him an outlet for his anger.

He appreciated the challenge. It made him a more experienced laborer so that he could, in the future, have his own business. Although Dean wished that could be true, the auto shop was a family thing, and Dean was the heir to the greasy throne. Sam was going to go to college and leave one day. And Dean would be left behind to take care of their father, the house, and most likely the business, if John kicked the bucket. Their father wasn’t that old, but life is unexpected. So is death.

Obeying Dean’s previous warning, Castiel gingerly opened the passenger door and lowered himself onto the seat carefully. Dean chuckled under his breath, but Castiel frowned at him, meaning he hadn’t been discreet. In a second, the engine was purring and the Chevy was rolling down the shop’s driveway and out onto the main road. There was nothing but the sunset to look forward to while they cruised between the walls of murky dusk.

Dean adjusted himself in his seat so he could see Castiel if he turned his head just a bit. He didn’t want to completely take his eyes off the road, but he still wanted to be able to see the kid while he talked with him. There were a few things on his mind that he hoped Castiel could clear up. Dean didn’t mean to pry at Castiel’s privacy. He just wanted to make small talk to save them an awkward ride filled with silence.

“So,” Dean coughed, “How do you like Kansas so far?”

“It’s quiet and cozy.” Castiel smiled. “There’s a lot of inspirational little things.”

“Inspirational?”

Castiel hesitated. _Was I not supposed to hear that last part?_ Dean panicked. He had asked one question and he had already tested his boundaries.

“Yes,” Castiel drawled.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Castiel’s stare seemed to push Dean further. They were almost begging him to inquire more, and Dean took that as a challenge. He thought of a way to carefully phrase his next questions, so he got the most information out of Castiel.

“Where do you find this inspiration?”

He could hear the smile in Castiel’s voice as he answered. “Everywhere. The landscape is lovely, as are the country homes that you can’t find in the city. And the people. The people are what drive me to-”

Ignoring Castiel’s sudden stop, Dean continued. “I had no idea that little old Kansas had the beauty you’re describing. I guess after living here all my life, I’ve gotten used to it. I’d rather see the city.”

“No, no, no! The city is too crowded. Their own beauty is its boisterous life within its streets, which doesn’t last for too long. Too many cars polluting the air ruin the magical feel of the experience.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. What about their people?” Dean inquired. Castiel’s animated response nearly made him chuckle. The way he spoke so passionately made shivers crawl up and down Dean’s spine.

“They’re very eccentric,” Castiel said cautiously, as if he was afraid of insulting those who were miles and miles away. “Not like the Kansas folk. From what I can tell they’re very kind and hospitable.”

 _Perfect timing_ , Dean grinned. Harvelle’s was right up the street. _I hope Castiel is hungry_. “Have you met many Kansasites?”

“Besides you and my uncle’s elderly neighbor, no, I have not.”

“Well, if you’re up for it, I could take you to a joint down the street for a good meal. My friends who own the place can introduce you to their regulars. They’re as Kansas as you can get. It’s a great,” Dean added, “cultural experience.”

“I would love to,” Castiel began. “But my uncle is very strict and-”

“Please,” Dean raised a hand to interrupt Castiel’s endless babble of apologies. “You don’t have to. I just figured that you might need a calm ending to a stressful week. That’s all.”

He shrugged with a small smile before returning his eyes to the road. They sat quietly for a while listening to the sound of the tires crunching along the road. The exit to the Roadhouse was about to pass by, and Dean mentally crossed every part of his body that he could. The setting sun glinted off the tip of the hood and shone in his eyes. He squinted at the glare, biting his lips anxiously.

 _Say something, Cas. Please say something. Please say something,_ Dean started to chant. His stomach dropped when they sped past the turn. There was a rock solid lump in his throat that tasted like defeat. His one plan to get Castiel away from his uncle and prove to him that he wasn’t what Zachariah thought he was had failed. Maybe he was his father after all...

“Let’s go,” Castiel cried out at last.

Dean jerked the steering wheel and the Chevy swerved, leaving a deep gash in the street as they made a giant U-turn. The car barreled toward the dirt path leading towards the quaint bar. It teetered to the left before righting itself on all fours. Dean cooed to his baby, rubbing the dashboard and kissing the top of the wheel.

A small gasp escaped Castiel’s lips when they touched ground, and Dean’s stomach did tiny acrobatic flips at the noise. They rolled to a stop by the front door where several old geezers were playing poker, with tall glasses filled to the brim with an amber liquid.

Several heads turned to watch their dramatic entrance. Dean felt like he had been driving the Batmobile. He grinned wildly at Castiel, who sat clutching his seat. His whole body was rigid and his eyes were squeezed shut. Dean poked him lightly in the side, which made Castiel jump out of his skin. He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings.

“That was, um,” Castiel stuttered. “That was unexpected of me.” He slowly uncurled his fingers from the leather seat before taking a deep breath. Dean could see every muscle in Castiel’s upper body relaxing as he calmed his nerves.

“You’re an unexpected kind of guy,” Dean mused, stepping out into the dimming sunlight.

Castiel was right behind him as Dean led the way into the bar. Bing Crosby was playing on the jukebox in the corner, and Dean snapped his fingers to the tune. There was a tall blonde girl at the counter with her back to them. She was cleaning the glasses with an old dish rag that was in desperate need of a wash. Dean snuck silently across the room until he was leaning over the counter with his lips at her ear.

“Hey there, Jo,” Dean bellowed.

Jo squealed in surprise, tossing the dish rag into the air. She spun around with her hand raised to smack whoever had startled her, but her instant fear passed quickly when she saw who it was. Another squeal erupted from her lungs, but this time it was out of joy.

“Dean! I’m so glad you came! We were worried you wouldn’t show!”

Dean flashed a charming smile, with a cheeky wink to match. “So you were thinking about me while I was gone?”

Jo rolled her eyes, but pulled him into a tight hug. Castiel watched the warm embrace by the door, where he stood awkwardly out of place. Jo’s chin sat in the crook of Dean’s neck, and she tilted her head curiously at Castiel. Her lips brushed against Dean’s ear for a moment. His nose crinkled as he smiled in response, sending chills down Castiel’s spine.

The dark-haired boy stuffed his hands in his pockets; he didn’t know what else to do with them. He may not have known, but they certainly did as they twitched at the sight of Jo’s fingers spread against Dean’s back. Speaking of Dean, he beckoned Castiel over with a nonchalant wave while whispering something in Jo’s ear. Castiel could only catch his last words as he drew near the couple.

“…don’t ruin this for me,” Dean mumbled firmly.

He glared at Jo when she gave him a knowing smile. She faced Castiel and held out her hand, which he shook gently. Joanne returned the gesture with a tight grip, completely taking Castiel off guard. He smiled feebly and dropped his hand to his side timidly.

“I’m Joanne Harvelle, or just call me Jo. My mom owns the place, but I’m mostly in charge of the drinks,” she winked.

A surge of heat rushed through Castiel’s veins, starting at his neck and peaking at the tip of his nose. Jo was intimidating with her dashing smile and stunning looks, which set off a wave of emotions in Castiel’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if they were butterflies or mini tornadoes spinning around down there.

“My name is Castiel Novak. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. I love meeting Dean’s new pals, especially the ones from out of town.” She nudged Dean in the side playfully. He glared at her for a second before nodding Castiel to a secluded table by the back corner of the room.

They sat across from each other in the plush leather booth by the bathroom stalls. The seats were not even close to blemish-free, but they matched the other décor of the establishment. There were tiny rips and tears all over, revealing white cotton fluff within the seams. Castiel ran his fingers over the small bumps while Dean cried out his order to Joanne at the counter.

Cringing at his sharp tone, Castiel wondered why they hadn’t just ordered when they were standing right next to her. He supposed he would have to grow accustomed to this way of living, since he felt he would be spending a lot of time here from now on. There was no clear explanation as to why that was so; he just felt it to be true.

“Know what you’re going to order?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. He hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. There was a tattered copy by his elbow that he grasped tenderly in his bony fingers. The pages fell into his palms when he opened the menu to see several adverts for local businesses. He flipped through the small variety of meals before telling Dean to order for him whatever he did. This earned Castiel an energetic smile and another yell to Jo, who snapped back at him for being so loud.

“So tell me, what exactly does Kansas inspire you to do?” Dean leaned against the booth cushion, throwing his arm casually along the back of it. His bright eyes blinked curiously at Castiel, who fidgeted beneath Dean’s stare.

Castiel had always had trouble opening up to others because it meant sharing information with which they could base their entire opinion of you on. That thought alone made his insides scream, yet there was something about Dean that kept them quiet. Dean’s eyes sparkled with reliability and flecks of dark brown resembling a hidden trust that Castiel could latch onto.

Maybe it was his relationship with his father that led him to guard his emotions behind a wall of ferocity, masking the calm sensibility that peeked through the shadows. Or maybe it was the soft soul within that was gradually taking down the walls Castiel had so hastily put up. Either way, he felt comfortable enough to be himself with Dean, even if it was just a little bit.

“Sometimes I am inspired to write,” Castiel finally answered. “I tend to write short stories and other prose, but I lean mostly towards poetry. It’s my one escape from everyday life and has been for quite a while. Writing to me means freedom from my mother. She has made my life a living hell ever since-”

Castiel stopped before he revealed too much. He barely knew Dean. Fear bubbled in the pit of his stomach, telling him if he ended up sharing every single detail about himself, then Dean wouldn’t see him as the same person. Castiel was thinking of one secret in particular that had gotten him in a lot of trouble as of late; the secret that had landed him in Kansas in the first place. He knew it could ruin their blossoming friendship, and Castiel was hesitant to share it with his one friend in the town.

While he was having a mental breakdown, Dean’s eyebrows scrunched together at Castiel’s previous words.

“Ever since… what?” Dean inquired, leaning forward across the table.

Luckily, Jo skipped over with their drinks, which distracted Dean momentarily. Castiel sighed in relief and prayed that their meals would be coming over soon after. The smell of crisp, sizzling beef wafted through the air from the kitchen and landed on Castiel’s skin. He inhaled the scent and wondered when the last time he had a home cooked meal that wasn’t anything organic like _salads_ or fresh _legumes_ was. His foster mother Naomi was obsessed with planning out the perfect meal and diet that would cleanse their bodies and souls to become one with the Lord. She claimed it was purifying, but Castiel often felt starved. Sinking his teeth into a nice slab of meat was incredibly appetizing at the moment.

“Cas, you haven’t answered my question.” Dean snapped his fingers in front of Castiel’s unblinking eyes.

“Oh, right,” Castiel hesitated, running his tongue over his chapped lips. He took a sip of his drink, partly to moisturize them, and partly to stall his response. “Dean, we’ve only just met properly. I don’t think that-”

“And here are your burgers,” Jo chirped with a friendly smile. “Fresh from the kitchen and as juicy as ever. Best in the state if you ask me.”

She gave Castiel a flirty wink before returning to the counter, where new customers were waiting to order a few drinks. Castiel mentally thanked Jo again for beautifully interrupting his and Dean’s conversation at the exact time he needed her to. He shrugged at Dean, whose expression was a mixture of interest and aggravation, and took the biggest bite he could of his burger.

Jo was right. Greasy juices slid down Castiel’s chin as he bit down on a large mouthful of beef, lettuce, and tomato. A little part of him wanted to toss the vegetables in the trash, but they added a crisp freshness to the meaty taste. He smiled gratefully to Dean for the last-minute dinner and received a playful one in return. The next few minutes were filled with silence as they ate. Both boys, hungrier than wolves, chowed down on a hefty meal, all the while avoiding eye contact and bumping knees underneath the table.

Later on, when their plates were clean and bellies full, Castiel had quietly slipped a pen from his pocket. Grabbing a clean napkin, he scribbled a few words that hung in the back of his mind. When he was done, Dean slipped the napkin from his fingertips.

“Did you write this?” he whispered, eyes grazing over the messily written poem.

Castiel nodded, not making eye contact with Dean. It was something he had written the night he arrived at his uncle’s house. During a tornado of emotions and scrap paper and pens, Castiel wrote about things he didn’t know about himself. The one he handed Dean was one of them.

Flushing nervously, he snatched the napkin out of Dean’s hands, but before he could safely pocket it, the napkin vanished from his palm.

“I’d like to keep it, if that’s okay,” Dean said sheepishly. He carefully folded and stuffed the poem in his back pocket after Castiel approved.

“It’s getting late,” Castiel remarked.

He politely asked Dean to drive him home. The cool night air sent shivers crawling along their skin as they made their way to Dean’s car. Jo had whispered something to Dean on his walk out, which had earned a smack to the shoulder. Although whatever she had said had irked Dean, he spun away with a smile.

Castiel admired Dean and Jo’s friendship. They were like quarrelling siblings that, at the end of the day, loved each other more than anything. The slamming of Dean’s door woke Castiel from his thoughts, the sound echoing through the night along with the purr of the engine.

Dean had barely mumbled a goodbye to Castiel before the fidgety boy jumped out of the car seat and dashed towards the front steps. The door had opened to reveal a golden-eyed Westerner who ushered Castiel inside, giving Dean a wary stare.

 _That must be Gabriel_. Dean remembered Zachariah mentioning Gabriel, and a girl named Anna as well, that were awaiting Castiel’s arrival. _I wonder if they’re his brother and sister_ , Dean pondered. _Well, Gabriel and Castiel look nothing alike, but I wonder if Anna has the same features._

The engine roared awkwardly by the side of the road while Dean waited until Castiel was safely inside. He wouldn’t want anything bad to happen on his watch and have Zachariah on his tail, hungry for revenge. By the deadly look on his face, Zachariah must have told nasty lies to Gabriel. The front door closed with a bang as soon as Castiel was fully indoors, and Dean took that as his cue to peel away into the night.

When he returned to his own home, his father was nowhere to be found. This didn’t surprise Dean, but rather lifted the heavy weight off his shoulders. For once this week he would have a calm night to himself with Sammy upstairs, reading or doing whatever he did during the summer break. The Friday night tradition for his father was finishing his work at the shop early and heading over to the Roadhouse for a few drinks alone at the counter.

Some nights he wouldn’t come home until after midnight; others he would bring the alcohol with him as he stumbled down the street. Dean never let him drive the Chevy to the Roadhouse because it put him at risk of driving under the influence of the devil’s drink, which could lead to a terrible accident. Although being rid of their father for eternity wouldn’t make that much of a difference to Sam and Dean, it would still leave them with one less family member once again.

“Sammy?” Dean called up the stairs once he had tossed his shoes by the door. “Dad’s still out at work, maybe at the Harvelle’s. Is there anything you want to do while he’s gone?”

A muffled yell followed by footsteps fumbling down the stairs was Sam’s answer. Whenever they had a night to themselves, Sammy was quick to jump into action without the supervision of their father. Whether it was a night of listening to old records or lighting up the fire place to read by, he was up for almost anything. Dean ambled over to the bottom of the stairwell just as Sam’s reached the last step. He smiled up at his brother with an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“Well,” Sam crooned. “I guess a slice of pie wouldn’t hurt?”

“Man, you have no idea how much I wanted you to say that,” Dean beamed.

The two of them scuttled towards the kitchen, where a tray lay by the sink on the counter. Dean could smell the intoxicating scent of baked apples from the front door when he first walked in. What he didn’t know was that Sam had waited all day for his brother to return, so he could taste a bite of the pie he had shoved in the oven earlier. It was Dean’s favorite of all time, which Sam had known since the day he began forming sounds into coherent words and phrases.

The first thing his brother taught him was that pie was always a must, never left behind. Sam used to laugh at Dean’s unhealthy obsession, but now he had begun to share the same addictive craving towards the succulent apple cuts glazed with sweet honey in a crunchy, yet soft, crust.

As soon as Dean cut the first slice, Sam’s hands were grabbing at the plates in the top cupboard. He slid the cheap china down the counter towards Dean’s nimble hands, which stopped the plates before they smashed into anything. He plopped two heaping piles of apple mush onto the chipped surface of the plates, handing one to Sam along with a fork.

Dean ate his with a spoon and mocked Sam for using the opposite. It was playful banter, but Dean was honestly baffled at his brother’s choice in cutlery. He never let Sam know that, but the thought was there. They made their way to the dining table by the hallway and sat with huffs of relief. Dean grinned as his tongue slid over the cool metal of the spoon, engulfing the lump of apple swirling in its curved dip. Sam did the same, except his dangled off the edge of the tines. They both sat in silence, enjoying their pie and a night off from the craziness that their father dragged home with him.

“I haff to be to wok earry ‘morroh,” Dean said through a mouthful of pie.

“Come again?” Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean’s poor etiquette.

After swallowing, Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I _said_ I have to be to work early tomorrow.”

“Oh, any particular reason you’re going in before seven?”

“No,” Dean’s eyes shifted from side to side as he took another bite of his pie.

Sam raised both eyebrows this time, neatly placing his fork by his plate. His brother was acting awfully suspicious about a little thing like going to work early, something he never did. If anything, he was late to work every Saturday after a long night of doing who knows what. Mostly he just spent time with Sam, but other nights he would cruise around town in his car.

“Alright then,” Sam sighed, nodding to Dean’s crumb-spattered plate. “Done?”

“Yeah.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and leaned back into his seat. Sam took both their plates to the sink, where he laid them gently by the drain. He glanced out the window to see his father stumbling down the side of the road with a bottle in his hand. Sam rolled his eyes and left the dirty dishes in the sink, storming off to his room.

“Dad’s got a bottle. Don’t know how in the hell he got it, but he’s coming up the street now.” Sam pounded his way up the staircase.

The slamming of his door was a sharp bang that reverberated throughout the entire house. Dean winced at the sound. He turned his head slightly to see John nearly falling up the front steps. _Might as well go to bed before he takes a drunken swing_ , Dean decided. He left his spot at the table and dashed up the stairs before his father could manage to fumble his way through the front door.

As he tip-toed toward the stairwell, his father came barreling through the front door, spilling the beer all over the carpet. Dean’s head spun around as John’s snapped up to meet his son’s gaze. They locked eyes for what seemed like forever, but it was mere seconds. John took a frightening step forward, his stare deadly, and Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. Breaking out of his haze, he bolted up the steps to his room with John tripping over his own feet to grab at his son’s collar. He chased Dean up the stairs and around the corner past Sam’s bedroom door.

“Sammy, stay in your room!” Dean yelled.

He could hear John throwing himself against Sam’s door, but it was locked tight. And it was all thanks to Dean.

A few weeks ago, Dean had tinkered a bit at the shop until he created a bulky lock for Sam’s door for when John got out of hand. It was nice to know that the lock worked towards his advantage.

While John was distracted with the fast-stuck doorknob down the hall, Dean slipped into his room and slid the bolt on his own door’s lock. The satisfying click numbed Dean’s legs with relief. He rested against the door, sliding down to sit on the ground.

A few moments later, John had moved on to Dean after giving up trying to barge into Sam’s bedroom. Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the slurred shouts and sticky mess that seeped through the carpet from underneath the door. The alcohol didn’t bother him so much, but his dad’s broken yells tore right through his heart. Dean sucked in a shaky breath, stifling the hot tears that built up at the corners of his eyes.

 _Why,_ he whimpered slightly. _Why, dear God, did you leave us with him? Why did you let mom leave us here? We need her._ I _need her._

Dean sat with his back against the door until his father’s sluggish footsteps could be heard shuffling towards his room at last. He heard John flop onto his mattress and instantly succumb to sleep.

Feeling around blindly for a change of clothes, Dean slipped out of his work uniform. It was a navy blue jumper with a name tag over his breast that read _DEAN WINCHESTER_. Before he threw the ratty, greasy piece of clothing into the hamper, he took Cas’ napkin-poem from the back pocket. It was stained with burger grease and the ink was smudged, but Dean could still read it, clear as day.

_“Just like a summer rain,_

_you shine bright,_

_cascading down the hills._

_And like the chilly autumn air,_

_you leave a trail of goose bumps_

_along the nape of my neck.”_

He whispered the poem to himself three times, fingers brushing over the words, trying to read between the lines. Who was Cas writing about? Could it be…Dean?

 _No_ , Dean shook his head, _that’s ridiculous._

And it was. Dean knew it was.

Sleep silently tip-toed into Dean’s mind, his head lolling to rest on his shoulder. He told himself he would only sleep for a little while. Come morning, he would have to sneak out to the shop while John snored in his bed. Dean smiled sleepily at thoughts of Castiel, his new friend, and fell asleep as he lost himself in those deep crystal oceans of blue.


	3. Three

 

He had missed his alarm.

The alarm that woke him up at 7 A.M. precisely every Saturday morning – sans this morning as it was set for 6 A.M. – had somehow rang, unnoticed by his ears, as he slept through until 8 o’clock.

_I missed my alarm. How could I miss my alarm?_

Dean mentally scolded himself as he sped down the main road towards the auto shop. By the time he had woken up, gotten into his dirty jumpsuit, and hopped into the car, it was already quarter past eight. He had told Castiel last night that he would be in the shop around seven and to stop by anytime within the next hour.

A little part of him prayed that Castiel was late for whatever reason. He would hate to have their friendship start off fantastic with a nice dinner and then crumble because of Dean’s carelessness. Once again, he mentally kicked himself for falling asleep by the door instead of taking about three steps to crawl into his bed. He figured that his awkward sleeping position had kept him from waking when the alarm sounded. However _that_ worked.

The shop rolled into view. There was a tall figure leaning against the garage door, his hat tipped over his nose and arms crossed over his chest. Dean smacked the steering wheel. _Damn_ , he hissed, shaking his head as the car chugged to a stop.

The man’s head rose from his chest to reveal rosy cheeks and a sparkling smile. Castiel pushed himself from the shop wall and walked to meet Dean at his car. His smile radiated with sincerity and delight; he didn’t look disappointed in Dean or upset with him at all. There was the slim chance that Castiel was feigning his good spirits, but Dean hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to make excuses, and he wouldn’t have had to if he kept to his damn promises.

“I’m really sorry,” Dean began as he stepped out onto the dry, dusty ground. “I had a rough night, and slept on the floor, and my alarm didn’t wake me and-”

“Dean, don’t worry,” Castiel chortled lightly.

“No, I will, because I told you I would be here at seven and it’s an hour later. You’ve probably been here alone for who knows how long and-”

“Dean. Stop. I arrived only a few minutes ago. Originally, I had no mode of transportation to get here, but at the last minute my uncle offered to drive me. So I suppose we are both at fault, although I do not see the problem. Everyone runs late at one time or another,” he shrugged.

Dean slipped past Castiel, mumbling to himself: _but I never want to be late for you_. He dragged his feet somberly towards the back door and coughed. “You can come this way. The shop technically doesn’t open until nine on Saturdays.”

He turned slightly to see Castiel rushing to catch up with him. Dean shoved the key into the lock and opened the door to a dark, muggy room. The lights flickered over their heads until the room was washed in a warm glow. The shabby automobile sat under the blinding work lamp in the middle of the garage.

“Take a seat.” Dean waved to a chair by the work bench.

Castiel nodded gratefully, but wandered through the various tables of tools that were scattered around the room. He picked up a few tenderly, inspecting them as if they held the meaning to life, before laying them back down in the same manner. Eventually, he had made a round about the room and settled in the chair Dean had gestured to earlier.

While he had been curiously exploring the Winchester family place of work, Dean had grabbed the tools necessary to fix the... _car shaft? The crank meter? Oh, whatever,_ Castiel rolled his eyes. He smiled when Dean gave him a worrying look. _Nothing wrong here, Dean. I am only talking to myself._ When Dean turned his attention back to the hood of the car, Castiel cringed and covered his face with his hands.

For a moment there was silence, but then Castiel could hear low moans and sharp grunts. He glanced to where the strange noises were coming from, and realized Dean was speaking. Castiel tried to make out what Dean was saying, but his voice was muffled as he talked with his face buried under the hood of the Chrysler. He continued to babble as if Castiel could hear whatever he was saying, but in reality he couldn’t catch a single bit of it.

“Erm, Dean?”

A loud bang echoed throughout the room, and Dean resurfaced with a hand clutching the back of his head. He winced while his fingers gingerly inspected the growing lump at the crown of his noggin. Grimacing, he saw Castiel sitting by the bench, his face puckered like he had sucked on a lemon. It was only until the dark-haired boy’s lips twitched that Dean finally realized that Castiel was holding back laughter.

“Not funny,” Dean growled through gritted teeth.

Castiel composed himself, clearing his throat before he nodded seriously. “Of course not. Who would laugh at someone’s pain? Certainly not I, that’s for sure.”

Although Castiel’s face was impassive, the soft freckled skin around his eyes was cunningly smooth, giving him away. His eyes glittered slyly under the ceiling lights that swung from the draft whooshing in from the hot air outside. Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but decided to move on with business. After all, they were here to talk cars.

“So.” Dean grabbed the rag from his back pocket and rubbed his hands clean. “She’s all set. Took less than a minute, but there are a few more things I would like to look at while you’re here.”

“What would those ‘few things’ be? My uncle wanted me to return the car by noon.” Castiel’s licked his lips, greeting them with an occasional nibble. “I can’t be late, nor can the bill be very expensive. We’re paying for the bill. We really don’t have much to begin with, and I would not like to upset him by biting off more than we can chew.”

“Don’t worry about the tab. Family friends get a discount; it’s the company rule. The only things that need fixing or tuning are the pressure gauge, the clutch, and I’d like to rotate your tires while I’m at it, too. Rather be safe than sorry, right?”

“Will you be done before noon?” Castiel asked restlessly. He stuck his thumb between his teeth and chewed furiously at the nail, waiting for Dean’s reply. Instead, Dean dropped his hands to his sides in a huff and took three long strides to where Castiel sat. He gently pulled Castiel’s hand from his mouth and squeezed it once before letting it drop to his lap.

“I can tune the pressure gauge in about an hour, but the clutch might take longer.” Dean sighed. “Why don’t I do that, and then we can take her out for a spin and grab a bite before you leave. How does that sound?”

Castiel nodded and leaned back into his chair. Dean returned to the car to quickly finish his work. He planned to finish in less than an hour so he and Castiel could have more time for breakfast at the local bakery. They sold the best donuts in the state, and Dean knew that Castiel would love to try one.

 _I doubt Zachariah would ever let Castiel eat junk like that. They’re probably all health-nuts like his mom, or step-mom, or whatever_. He shook his head and bent over to reach under the hood, immediately closing off the outside world so he could bury himself in his work. The sooner he was finished, the sooner he could take Castiel out to eat. The sooner he could take Castiel out to eat, the sooner their friendship could strengthen.

 _I’m such a liar_. Dean shook his head as he stared at the gauge that didn’t need tuning whatsoever. _Castiel won’t know what I’m doing anyways, so tinkering wouldn’t hurt_.

For the next twenty minutes, Dean rummaged through several tool boxes and used whatever he found to tap a few things around the engine. He wasn’t doing any damage to the car, but he wasn’t _fixing_ it either. Every few minutes or so, Dean would glance toward where Castiel sat patiently in his seat. One of the times, Castiel smiled lightly, his eyes glistening with some sort of something. Dean couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed to him that Castiel was hiding something.

“Finished,” Dean exclaimed, smirking at Castiel, who stood up at the sound of his husky voice.

“Great,” Castiel grinned. “That didn’t take long. I suppose we have time for a longer breakfast then.”

Dean nodded. “You’ve got that right. Would you like to drive, or should I?”

“Whichever.” Castiel shrugged. “You can if you wish to. Driving that vehicle has driven me mental. I think I need a break from being the one behind the wheel.”

“Alright, hop on in, then.”

Castiel shuffled into the passenger seat while Dean ran over to open the garage door. The bright sunlight of the humid summer afternoon momentarily blinded Dean as he pushed the door high enough for the car to pass under. The roads were clear, except for a few people that walked past for a nice Saturday stroll.

“You know what, how about we walk?” Dean suggested.

“Is where we’re headed far?”

“No, there’s a small bakery right down the street. It’s the perfect walking distance and the weather is probably the best we’ll have for a while.” Dean turned his head, raising his brows in Castiel’s direction. “Worth a try?”

Castiel bit his lip apprehensively, gazing at Dean in a way that made his heart jump out of his chest. Dean wondered, _what could he be thinking about?_

“Worth a try,” Castiel finally answered, with a forced smile.

“Nifty.” Dean led the way out of the shop, leaving the door open.

Nobody was due for a visit today, and there wasn’t anything valuable in the shop besides the cars. The keys were on a metal ring hidden in one of the tool boxes, so Dean didn’t worry about anything getting stolen. Lawrence didn’t host a lot of thieves, which put a lot of local business owners at ease. No one had to be fearful of losing their valuables, which was something Dean took pride in. The town wasn’t one chock-full of liars. It was peaceful.

The two boys walked side-by-side down the side of the road towards the bakery. Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, wishing he had grabbed his hat before leaving. The sun’s rays were hot against his cheeks. He expected to have a sun burn on his cheeks and the tip of his nose after they returned to the shop. Sunburns hurt like hell, leaving behind dark spotted remains as a reminder of where Dean had been, or what he had been doing. He mused that the freckles he received today from the summer sun would remind him of this moment with his new friend, a relationship he wished he could make last.

“Done anymore writing lately?” Dean asked.

“Not really. I’ve been doing too many chores around the house to have enough time to sit down with a paper and pen.”

Dean frowned and immediately blamed Zachariah for suffocating Castiel’s creativity. It was a little odd for Castiel to be writing like he does – although he did seem the type – but that didn’t mean Zachariah had the right to put an end to it. Maybe he was overreacting, but there was still something fishy about it.

“Does your brother help you out with your work?”

“Oh, you mean Gabriel? No, he is much too busy studying for school. He’s going to go into law one day, so Uncle Zachariah has him focus on his studies,” Castiel explained mechanically. Those were definitely Zachariah’s words, not Castiel’s.

“What about your sister?”

“Sister? I don’t-ah, Anna. Anna is my cousin. She’s quite the fiery one, won’t sit still for too long or stay focused enough to do chores. I don’t mind doing the work. It keeps me busy during the summer. Also, Uncle Zachariah works too hard, and for him to have to worry about little things like washing the dishes is absurd.”

“Yeah, absurd is right,” Dean mumbled, kicking a large stone with the toe of his boot.

Castiel stopped mid-stride. It took Dean a few seconds to realize that Castiel wasn’t following him. He spun to see Castiel brooding over what he had said. He had thrown himself in the hot spot. Castiel was obviously very sensitive about his family, but to be this tense when something was spoken against his uncle was proof that the guy was brainwashing him.

The man was being a schmuck about Castiel’s writing, so what? Dean wasn’t upset about that, because Castiel could work around the dumb chores he had to do. It was something else that Castiel was hiding from him that set Dean off. That something else was going to pop up sooner or later, and Dean prayed that it was sooner, before he went insane. He wanted to know everything about Castiel so they could grow closer. Dean had never had a friend like this before, except for Jo, and he didn’t want to lose Castiel now over his douche bag uncle.

“Excuse me? What was that supposed to mean?” Castiel whispered angrily.

“Nothing, man, I was just talking. Long night and a tough morning’s work gets me riled up sometimes. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Dean sighed dejectedly, wishing the whole conversation would drop. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Dean faced the way towards the bakery, but Castiel still wasn’t following. He was _this_ close to exploding right in the kid’s face, but he held back his rage. There was no need to break through the civilized wall he had put up to avoid becoming like his father today. Castiel didn’t need to see him like that. If he did, then the next person to hear about it would be Zachariah, and then all hope of their friendship would be lost.

“No, I have things to do anyways. I don’t have time for your _western trash_ ,” Castiel spat, taking off in a sprint back to the shop.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. He started chasing after the bobbing tuft of dark hair, but slowed to a stop. There was no point.

Pushing Castiel any more would only cause more frustration and anger between them. Dean was infamous for screwing things up. He didn’t want to be responsible for that reputation today.

Sighing, he decided to continue towards the bakery for fresh bread and a few other things. He dipped his head to avoid the hot sun. There was no more desire in his heart for the tiny freckles anymore. He only wished his cheeks would burn red instead.


	4. Four

 

Slamming doors was never really Dean’s thing, but that Saturday it was.

The booming thud echoed throughout the house, causing a loud moan from the floor above. There was a shuffling of feet, followed by a scruffy face that appeared at the top of the staircase. John rubbed his eyes repeatedly until there wasn’t a trace of sleep left. He stumbled down the steps and through the haze to where Dean stood fuming by the door. Luckily, Dean had caught his father in-between hangovers, but that didn’t cease John from tripping over his own feet while he tried to awkwardly console Dean.

“What happened?” John grunted, throwing a limp arm over Dean’s shoulder.

“Nothing, just stay out of it and go down a few beers.” He shrugged out of his father’s embrace and tossed the fresh bread onto the kitchen table. His rapid footsteps left John in a wake of confusion, lagging like a television with a bad signal.

Other than Dean’s brooding behavior, the house was calm. Sam was still asleep – the kid could sleep through anything – so Dean crept silently past his bedroom door. It was cracked open, and he peeked inside to see his younger brother snoring soundly in his bed.

One arm was tossed over his face and his legs were sprawled across the sheets. It didn’t look like a comfortable sleeping position, but Sam’s snores weren’t laced with displeasure. The door creaked softly as Dean shut it gently, not wanting his brother to wake up to a grumpy brother. He would assume that something had happened between father and son that would cause thick tension to spread through the house for the rest of the week. Nine times out of ten, Sam was right, but Dean was tired of the constant disappointment in his brother’s eyes.

“Not today, Sammy,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the door. “Not today.”

His brother’s fragile innocence stitched his attitude back together. The pattern was ragged and the ends torn and frayed, but it was wholesome again. He needed time alone to think about what was happening with him. The thoughts coursing through his mind scared him, and he wished he had someone to talk to, who he could spill his guts to. Sam wouldn’t understand, and there was no chance in hell he would explain himself to his father.

The only person Dean could think of was their Uncle Bobby, but he was away on a hunting trip up in South Dakota. Something about pheasants that Dean wasn’t too sure about. Bobby was the Winchester boys’ true father figure, although he had a hard time being sentimental. The semi-famous hunter was gruff like their father, an alcoholic as well, but he could keep his head on straight when the boys needed him.

Bobby was the one who taught Sam how to ride a bike. He showed Dean how to skin a fish and shoot a rifle, which Dean in turn taught Sam. The three of them were inseparable, and nothing was going to change that. The boys had always looked up to Bobby for inspiration and seen him as a father figure. Whenever John wasn’t coherent, the scruffy old man was right down the road to shelter them from the cold.

The faint light emanating from the bedroom next to Sam’s guided Dean to his soft bed. The sheets were cool, despite the day’s muggy weather. It was like diving into the neighbor’s pool on a hot, sticky day. Dean sighed with pleasure when he laid his head on his pillow, practically purring. He wished he could stay like that forever, but sheets eventually lose their chill.

As the mattress molded to his body, remembering him, Dean fidgeted until he found the sweet spot. The rusty springs creaked with every move Dean made and he worried about waking Sam. The poor kid rarely got sleep with all the reading he did. Saturdays were his one day to sleep late and wake up to see the sun reaching its peak.

 Dean rolled over, rubbing his eyes, to see Sam standing by the door. He was the spitting-image of his sleepy brother. Both of them had terrible bedhead and a yawn that was contagious for miles. As if on cue, their mouths widened dangerously while exhaling a sharp gust of air. Dean chuckled at his little brother. There wasn’t a day where seeing his brother fresh from sleep didn’t make him smile.

“You alright, Dean?” Sam mumbled, still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean coughed, “just had some trouble down at the shop. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Was it Cas?”

Dean froze. “Wh-what did,” he gulped loudly, “who?”

“Like you don’t know. Cas Novak,” Sam cocked an eyebrow, “the guy you’ve been fawning over for who knows how long?”

“Castiel?” Dean stared intently at his brother. “No, God no, I wouldn’t. That’s just-”

“Gross? Yeah, okay.” Sam shook his head in disbelief.

He turned to the stairs and plodded his way to the kitchen. Pots and pans clanging against each other rang through the hallway. The click and stutter of the stove was faint, but Dean could hear it igniting its flame to cook two eggs in a frying pan. Next came the sizzling of bacon, which had Dean out of his bed and down the stairs in less than a second. Sam cooked the best bacon and egg breakfasts Dean had ever tasted. For some reason, they were especially tasty on a Saturday morning and that’s exactly what Dean needed.

There were two sets of silverware and plates awaiting the brothers at the kitchen table. Their father was passed out on the couch, like usual, so it would only be the two of them. Sam would save a slice or two of bacon in the refrigerator for John, but it always grew cold before being tossed in the garbage.

It broke Dean’s heart to watch his brother throw away his unwanted compassion. If only his piss poor excuse of a father was man enough to walk – or rather shuffle – into the kitchen and take one measly bite. Dean shook his head and sighed. John needed a push into reality, and a hard one at that.

“Smells great, Sammy.” He smiled at the egg and two slices of bacon that had slid onto his plate.

“Always does, doesn’t it?” Sam smirked, covering up the remaining pieces of sizzling pork to stuff in the refrigerator. His hand lingered on the handle of the small plastic door. Dean cleared his throat, which brought Sam back to present time. He rattled his head quickly before grabbing a pair of napkins from the cupboard to bring to the table.

“Dig in,” he grinned, mimicking his brother once more.

That’s what made them so alike. While Dean munched on the delicious meal, he thought about how much he had influenced his little brother. Most of it was unintentional because all Sam had to do was stand in the same room as Dean to completely absorb the self-hatred and incessant sense of disappointment. It was a terrible thing to have to witness, but there was nothing Dean could do. The only solution was to fake a smile around his brother or take him out of the house as often as possible. The house was the main problem. _No_ , his father was the main problem, but the house was where he was permanently stationed. There seemed to be no escape, but Dean found a way. He always found a way.

“So, are you going to tell him?”

“Hm?” Dean queried through a mouthful of egg. He swallowed thickly and asked, “Tell who?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Cas, duh. Are you going to tell him that you like him?”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

“As long as you keep mentioning _him_ , I’ll keep calling you Sammy.” Dean twisted his face to match his aggravation. “You’re pushing your luck.”

They ate in silence, which Dean was beginning to enjoy, until Sam muttered something under his breath. Dean slammed his fork onto the table while Sam used his to push the remaining egg around his plate.

“Spit it out,” Dean growled with finality. He was done with the games, but he secretly wanted to hear what Sam had to say about Castiel.

“I said he probably likes you back,” Sam retorted snobbishly, although his voice was still a mumble.

“You,” Dean licked his lips, “you think so?”

Sam smiled slyly. “Yeah, I mean I saw you two at the Roadhouse yesterday. Barry’s parents took us there for dinner, but we left right after you guys walked in. Even Barry said you two looked like a couple.”

The butterflies that exploded in Dean’s stomach almost made him vomit with joy. He hadn’t known how desperate he was to hear those words until just now as they tumbled out from his brother’s mouth. He needed to hear them again, but he was being stupid. There was no way he had feelings for Castiel. That was wrong.

 _Didn’t the Bible say something about going to hell for that?_ Dean shivered. He brought his dish to the sink, but didn’t bothering rinsing it. Gripping both sides of the sink, he questioned whether or not what was happening was real. Could he be…? Was it possible that…

“Damn,” Dean cursed.

“What?”

“Nothing, I need some air.”

The front door slammed shut, leaving Sam dumbfounded at the kitchen table. Dean heaved a sigh. He rolled his navy blue sleeves higher up his arm until they were too thick to fold. The summer air was stickier than ever, glazing Dean’s exposed skin. A few kids rode by on their bicycles. One laughed at something the other said, and Dean smiled at the bunch of them.

He sat on the bottom step of the porch contemplating what was going on with him. The thoughts and feelings running through his mind and heart weren’t normal; his father had taught him that much. There was no way Dean actually felt something towards Castiel. That was wrong, but to Dean it felt right.

He didn’t turn his head when he heard the front door open or when a hand softly patted his shoulder. Sam hopped down to Dean’s level and sat with his brother. The two of them watched as the kids on the bicycles circled the neighborhood, enjoying the satisfying freedom of summer.

Dean wished that his life was that simple. He missed how carefree his thoughts used to be. What with working for his father, sneaking off to see Lisa, and now having feelings for Castiel, there wasn’t a chance that he would ever have a simple “apple pie life”. He wished and kept wishing. If only there was some sort of fairy out there to grant him his hopeless desires.

“You should go talk to him,” Sam squinted, facing his brother.

Dean shrugged. “He’s kind of mad at me now for trash-talking his uncle.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , talking might be outta the question right now, Sam.” He rolled his eyes. Dean chewed on his lip while he thought. “I could apologize though. That’s a good idea, right?”

He turned to his little Sammy for approval, but he was met with suppressed giggles. The younger Winchester bowed his head, trying not to let his laughter overcome him. Dean sighed, clearly annoyed, and stood to walk to the mailbox, which prompted Sam to burst into hearty guffaws.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam sputtered between chuckles. “I mean, apologizing does seem like the right thing to do, wouldn’t you think?”

“Oh, shut up!” Dean called over his shoulder. He reached the end of the driveway and jumped backwards to avoid being knocked over by a racing bicycle.

“Hey! Watch it!” He shouted.

“Sorry, mister!” the small girl shouted, stuttering to a halt. She looked petrified. “I’m really, really sorry!”

Dean nodded to her as she pedaled quickly to catch up to her friends, who were already halfway down the block. He lifted a hand in farewell, and then let it drop to rest on the mailbox. Could he apologize to Castiel the way that little girl had? _She made it look so easy,_ he thought. S _hould I let him simmer down before I drive over, or see him while he’s still riled up?_ He struck the mailbox in frustration, gripping a tuft of his hair with his free hand. _Why can’t this be as simple as saying you’re sorry to a stranger?_

Whatever Dean decided, he had to man up and say what was on his mind. If what Sam said was true, then maybe Castiel felt the same way towards Dean. He still couldn’t imagine them as a couple just yet, but then again, he couldn’t believe he could actually be homosexual. Was this something new in his life that he had just stumbled upon for the first time? Suddenly, Dean couldn’t remember the past seventeen years of his life. Had he always been like this?

The humidity was becoming too much. He dragged the scratchy fabric of his jumpsuit over his forehead to wipe away the dewy sweat. Thoughts of a nice sweet glass of lemonade flooded Dean’s mind, and he craved a stereotypical family picnic, red-checkered blanket and all. The devious smile that stretched across his face alarmed Sam that some sort of plan was being devised. Dean was up to something.

“Dean, what are you-”

“I need a basket, blanket, a loaf of bread, some grape jam,” he muttered a list of things he needed, but Sam cocked his head in confusion. He couldn’t grasp what Dean was getting at.

“Never mind, I’ll find them myself.”

Dean dashed down the driveway and up the wooden steps into the house. It was cooler inside, but not by much. He searched through the kitchen for the ingredients he needed for a comforting homemade meal. There wasn’t much in their kitchen to search through, but the one place that offered a challenge was the hallway closet.

Loud bangs from inside the house threw Sam off guard. He rushed in to find Dean sprawled on the floor, covered in a mixture of pots, pans, and a tattered blanket. They both met each other’s gaze and erupted in laughter. With an outstretched hand Sam hoisted his brother up off the floor, grabbing the blanket from Dean’s shoulder and folding it for him. He shook his head, still chuckling, while Dean dusted himself off.

“You’re insane, you know that?” he remarked.

“I guess I am,” Dean replied, “but I think I know what I have to do, so thank you.”

“Don’t thank me unless it’s a success,” Sam smirked. He looked at his brother, whose worry was reflected in his eyes. He clapped Dean on the back and handed him the blanket. “Go get him, champ.

“I will,” Dean chuckled, taking the checkered cloth and shoving it into the neglected picnic basket that sat on the kitchen table.

He pulled Sam into a tight hug, patted him once on the head, and made a dash for the door. Hopefully, Castiel was unoccupied by his uncle, so that Dean actually had a solid chance of apologizing. Blessed Uncle Zachariah, who according to Castiel could do no wrong, was most likely itching to get in the way of Dean and Castiel’s friendship, which would – with any luck – become something more very soon.

The Cabriolet was sat by the side of the house, waiting for Dean to take a wild spin through the neighborhood. He slid onto the plush leather seat and twisted the key into the ignition. The engine purred like a kitten being petted after a warm slurp of milk. Dean reclined back in his seat, reveling in the sound of his baby revving and eager to pounce. He switched gears and swerved out onto the road, cruising down the street toward Castiel's house. Or as Sam would say, _Cas'_ house.

“ _Cas_.”

The word rolled off Dean's tongue, stirring the dormant butterflies in his stomach. He giggled quietly and began to test it again, and again, and again. He said it until it was drowned from his gleeful laughter, until the word itself had no meaning. But to Dean, it would always have meaning. He knew that much in his heart already. There was no going back. Ever since he met Castiel in that train cab, he was hooked like a fish caught on a line. The lure was inescapable, which meant Dean was in for the long run.

It didn’t take long for Dean to find Cas' house. The ginormous country home was plain, but painstakingly beautiful in a simple way. The outside walls were white and the shutters were green - typical farmhouse colors. Dean rolled right up to the Novak's mailbox. Cas was outside, elbow-deep in suds. His uncle's Chrysler was parked in the driveway, covered in soap, and Cas was rubbing it down with a large dish towel. He was wearing the same clothes he had been earlier that morning, except he had rolled up his sleeves like Dean.

The sweaty Novak nephew was impervious to the humming of Dean's car. He either couldn't hear it over the tunes coming from the radio by the garage, or he was ignoring it. Dean hoped that he hadn't angered Cas _that_ much, but judging by the subtle dirty glares that Cas was throwing him, it seemed like it was the latter.

The engine stuttered to a halt as Dean tugged the key free from the ignition. Cas faltered for a moment, startled by the abrupt change in background noise, but continued to work. He lost himself in the soapy reflection of Dean closing his door and walking up the driveway that he didn't realize what was happening until Dean was standing right behind him.

“Cas, I drove over to say-”

“What did you just call me?” Cas snapped, spinning around so that he was an inch from Dean's nose.

“I, uh, nothing. Cas? Is that not, do you want me to, um,” Dean stuttered.

“Do not call me that,” Cas spat through gritted teeth.

With a nod, Dean stepped back with his hands raised innocently. “I didn't say it to offend you, man. I only wanted to say that I came over to apologize about earlier.”

“Oh.” Cas' quiet rage simmered to annoyance. He turned his back on Dean to finish his work. “Is that all you wanted?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. A bee buzzed by his nose toward the rose bush at the end of the Novak's driveway. It nuzzled itself in the velvet petals, brushing its legs against them to collect whatever pollen was left from springtime. The light summer breeze tickled the hairs in his nostrils. He stifled a sneeze before answering Castiel.

“No, actually. I was wondering if you would join me for a picnic as an apologetic meal. It’s free of charge and comes with a complimentary ride in my gorgeous Chevy Cabriolet,” he beamed, waving a hand towards his baby. Cas snorted, unimpressed.

“Really? That's your apology? A few words and a shitty picnic? I guess I was wrong about you, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel's hand froze, gripping the rag as he whispered, “But not wrong enough.”

“C'mon, Cas-Castiel,” Dean caught himself before he pissed Cas off even more. “You don't want a homemade PB&J? Made 'em myself. Also,” he added, “I want to talk about a few things.”

“Oh, like what?” The Chrysler was ready for rinsing, but Castiel kept washing the same spot over and over while Dean spoke. His mind was elsewhere.

“About” – a pair of eyes peeked through the curtains by the front door – “things, but not here, somewhere more _private_.”

Castiel glanced towards the house and saw Gabriel's golden irises glowing behind the hazy glass panes. He wet his chapped lips as best he could with his dry tongue. It was thick in his mouth, giving him a hard time swallowing back his anxiety. He had no idea where Dean was going with this.

“No, whatever you can say, you can say it here,” he whispered. “I trust my family.”

“Cas, please.”

“What did I say?!” Castiel shrieked, tossing the rag and throwing a blind punch at Dean's jaw.

He missed, but his fists landed on Dean's chest where they pounded all of his anger. Again and again, Castiel let out all of the past eighteen years pent-up anger, confusion, and frustration.

Anger at his peers for calling him things like “queer” and “fag”. Confusion as to who he was on the inside and where he belonged, if he ever would. And lastly, frustration towards his mother, who kicked him out for being homosexual. When he let his fists lay against Dean's, the gruff-looking grease monkey gingerly laid his hands over them. That's when Castiel realized he had voiced much of what he had thought.

“Dean, I-”

His contrition was cut off by the most unexpected action ever to come from Dean Winchester, a kiss. When their lips parted, and they were forced to gaze into each other's eyes, Castiel couldn't help but smile. He had been waiting for this for a while. Not Dean's kiss specifically, but a kiss that made him feel whole. A kiss that made him feel comfortable in his own skin, and Dean had just given it to him.

Meanwhile, Dean was screaming on the inside. He tried to keep his composure while his mind was at war with itself. He had kissed a _boy_. But kissing Castiel had felt so right, like they were two puzzle pieces snapping together as one. This time, Dean leaned forward slightly, brushing his nose against Castiel's, asking for permission. The blue-eyed angel nodded, his eyelids fluttering close as Dean pressed their lips together once more. Now he felt like he was home.

“So,” he whispered. “How about that picnic?”

Cas chuckled, pecking Dean gently on the cheek. “That sounds _perfect_.”

**٭**

The rest of the day went swimmingly.

Saturday afternoon was met with lighthearted hummingbirds and honeybees surrounding Dean and Cas while they dined under the great oak tree in the park. Dean knew he would never forget the beaming smile on Cas' face when he saw that their lunch consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ice cold lemonade shared from a thermos.

The space left in the basket was occupied by a collection of books Sam had given Dean before he left the house earlier that day. He had found them in the attic in a box of their mother's belongings that had been left behind. Whether they were unwanted or forgotten, neither of the boys knew, but the tattered, fragile novels were comforting to hold.

Dean cleared his throat, grabbing a fairly untouched copy and opening it to a random page. He hid the title from Castiel.

“ _He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself._ ” He snapped the cover shut and shoved the book behind his back. He positioned himself so Castiel couldn't see it no matter how far he leaned to the left or right.

“Dean Winchester, should I consider this an honor? Or do you read The Great Gatsby to all of your dates?” Castiel smirked, raising his eyebrows playfully.

“Hmph,” Dean huffed with faux aggravation. Within a second, he was holding back a grin as Castiel hesitantly slid his hands onto Dean's sides. He blinked once before shutting his eyes, waiting for the warm pair of lips he was beginning to see as belonging to him.

Callused fingers explored Dean's chest, tugging at the buttons on his shirt. It wasn't enough to pop the jumper open, but it served as a symbol of desire. Oh, how Castiel wanted to rip the clothes from Dean's body and kiss every inch of the soft, sweet skin that was trapped underneath.

 _One day,_ he thought to himself, _soon._

“Mm, Cas?” Through the flurry of lips, hands, and Cas' hips lightly grinding against Dean's, the normally gruff mechanic became timid. He sat up, breaking away from Cas' kiss, and glanced furtively around them. Thankfully, the park was empty.

“Yes?” His partner asked breathlessly.

Dean readjusted his shirt awkwardly, subtly shifting himself away from Castiel. He knew that this was what he wanted, but it was all happening so fast. The sight before him was irresistible: a slightly ruffled Cas, whose eyes were glazed with affection and fingers expressing the perfect amount of curiosity when it came to exploring his rough skin, sitting on a family picnic blanket where the entire world was theirs for the taking. The possibilities in this moment were endless. Dean felt endless, like he could kiss Castiel forever, but as of now he couldn’t be comfortable doing so in public. Although there was no one else around to see them, simply being in a public place was bothering Dean.

“Why did your mother send you here, to Kansas?”

There was an stir in the air when Dean tried to change the subject. All of the light poured from Castiel’s eyes, leaving behind a murky darkness. Dean could see his mind shut down and his memories of the past take control. Even the sky darkened as Castiel desperately tried to tread in deep waters. Judging by Castiel’s reaction, Dean could tell that there was more to the story than he could ever imagine.

“That's, um,” Castiel scooted away from Dean's side, tucking one leg under the other, “a tricky question. And a very long answer as well. You know, maybe I should get going. It is getting late.” He moved to stand with full intention of walking home, but Dean grabbed his wrist. It was a gentle hold, but determined.

“No,” Dean whispered firmly. “Sit and tell me. You owe me that much.”

His words ignited a flame that almost set Cas on a rampage, but the dark-haired boy kept his fiery temper on the back-burner. He heaved a great sigh before facing Dean with a tired expression. Suddenly the sensation spread over his whole body and it began to ache. He was so-

“Tired. I got so tired of holding it all inside of myself, hiding it from others. I was suffocating myself from the world and, well, me. It was like I was drowning, visibly drowning, amid all my family and friends, who stood there, staring at me. They never knew what was going on with me. I didn't go out dancing with friends, which was shocking because all I did was dance in middle school. I loved it so much, but the fear that wracked my body prevented me from indulging in what I loved most. I was an empty shell of myself. I was afraid.”

“When my foster mother –”  

“Wait,” Dean interrupted, “Foster mother?”

Castiel nodded solemnly. “I never knew my biological mother. I was put in foster care right after I was born. My real last name is Milton, or so I’ve been told. But Naomi makes me use her surname.”

“Oh,” Dean said. After a while, Castiel figured that Dean wasn’t going to say anymore, so he continued.

“So when Naomi realized that something was wrong, she confronted me about it. Sure, she was harsh and screamed until the words were tumbling out of my mouth, but she cared enough to ask. Anyway, there I was, cowering at the kitchen table, when I finally said it. I was surprised she even heard me since I was mumbling through fat tears, but she did. With my hands clasped tightly, I closed my eyes and said, ‘I-I like boys’.”

Cas paused for a moment to take a shaky breath. A tender hand caressed his folded knee, and Cas lifted his head to see Dean teary-eyed and sympathetic. The sight of his almost-boyfriend's loving gaze motivated Cas to continue.

“At first she was silent. My words had caught her off guard. She hadn't been expecting me to be... homosexual or at least she appeared to be shocked by the news. After she cleared her head, she beat me. She beat me until her knuckles were bloody and I couldn't feel any part of my body and, and I,” he stopped to cover his face in his hands.

Every muscle was convulsing while Castiel sobbed into his palms, not looking or even thinking about Dean. Mentioning his mother and that dreadful night when she threw him outside with nothing but the clothes on his back tore him apart. He was beginning to feel the rain falling at a constant rhythm all around him, the blood dripping from his scraped knees, and the hot confused tears spilling from his eyes when Dean pulled him to the surface.

“Cas,” he cooed, pulling the fragile boy into his arms, “it’s okay, you survived it. You went through hell and back, so the worst is over. There’s no reason to worry now because I’ve got you.”

“She sent me here because she heard about a flirtatious relationship I had in New York. The relationship was ruined, but I found someone else, someone better, here.”

Castiel snuggled deeply into his partner’s chest, burrowing his forehead in Dean’s neck. The clouds passed by the sun at last and finally the world was alight with the glowing rays of the giant star. It wasn’t just the sun that was glowing though. Cas was radiating with a peaceful happiness that warmed Dean’s heart. Through all of the shit both he and Cas have been through, it almost seemed like fate that they had found each other.

“I know this is strange to hear, especially this early, but we seem to have a...” Cas' voice faded. He was embarrassed to finish the thought.

“A what?”

“Well, a more profound bond,” he answered sheepishly.

Dean kissed Cas' forehead and thanked whoever had sent Castiel his way. It seemed like he had met Cas years ago, not mere weeks. The way things were moving between them scared Dean, but he was more excited than anything.

“Of course we do,” the whispered words tickled Cas' neck as a plump pair of lips inched their way towards his ear. They left a trail of kisses along the curve of his jaw, sending shivers down his spine.

Cas really knew how to melt a guy’s heart, but Dean wasn't so bad himself. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this aroused. He could picture himself and Dean, lying tangled in the sheets in his bed while their muffled giggles kept each other awake all night. It was a beautiful thought.

**٭**

“Who are we, Romeo and Juliet?”

Cas chuckled as he tiptoed around the back of his house with Dean clutching his hand close behind him. They were stumbling through the dark and giggling like school girls the entire way. When a light popped on over their heads, the two lovebirds stuck like adhesive tape to the wall to escape Uncle Zach’s wary eyes. He scoured the backyard twice before shutting his light off and heading back to bed. Dean and Cas doubled over in silent laughter as the adrenaline rushed through their veins. Their situation was childish and a laugh, but it also brought fear to Cas’ heart. If Zachariah caught them, he was done for; he would never see the light of day again.

“I suppose, but that makes me Juliet,” Cas whispered.

“Well, I sure ain’t a Capulet,” Dean teased.

Their hushed giggles added to the fun in sneaking around in the dead of the night. It was like they were living in a different world, one without prejudice or war, but peace and excitement.  Dean felt alive.

He also felt the back of Cas’ head in his face when he lost track of where he was walking. They slammed into each other and fell to the ground, legs tangled together in a twisted heap.

“Yikes, babe,” Dean grunted, his head stuck in the bush under Cas’ window. He pushed himself away from the prickly leaves and opened his eyes to see two bright stars staring right at him. They glowed against a pale face that was gazing at him in awe.

“Say it again,” the starry-eyed boy breathed, inching closer to Dean as he spoke.

At first, Dean was confused, but then he realized what he had said.

“Sure, _babe,_ ” he whispered. In one swift movement, he closed the infinite space between him and Cas, molding their bodies into one.

Dean’s hands were everywhere – caressing Cas’ soft skin at the hem of his shirt, exploring Cas’ neck with the brush of his lips, hooking his leg around Cas’ hips so that he was touching every part of the dark-haired boy that he could. It was surprisingly magical to Dean, how he could feel so strongly about someone this way. He had never experienced a romance as passionate as this one with Lisa, and he and Lisa had been together for almost a year.

“Cas,” Dean groaned; it was a fleeting gasp as soon as their lips parted, but they were soon to find each other again.

“Mm, I need to go, Dean.” He broke away from the kiss – or should he say _kisses_ – to regretfully glance at his hellish jailhouse. He held back tears, wishing he weren’t this sensitive, but he loathed goodbyes.

“Don’t,” Dean begged, his eyes sparkling. “ _Stay_.”

A rumbling silence was the only answer to Dean’s request. Castiel stood with a somber expression clouding his eyes, their irises having lost their light, like someone had flicked off a light switch. He hoisted himself onto the window ledge, easing the frame up like a professional and wiggling himself inside. For a moment, Dean was blinded by the abrupt brightness that radiated from the room. Once he regained his eyesight, his vision was filled with Castiel’s curiously cocked head.

“ _Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”_


	5. Five

 

From that beautiful Saturday afternoon onwards, Dean and Cas spent as much time together as possible. The only difficulty was passing by under the suspicious eyes of Zachariah without being caught. It proved to be a challenging task, but Dean was willing to try everything and anything to bask in the presence of Castiel Novak, even if it were for only a moment.

Every time they saw each other, Dean’s heart skipped a beat and his sweaty palms poured rivers over his nervously twitching fingers. He couldn’t stop the anxious beating in his chest, nor did he want to. This was the most fun he had ever had, and Dean was glad it was with Castiel.

The two were inseparable. Dean stayed so late one night that Cas half-expected him to stay the night. Of course, Dean would never dream of doing such a thing. He would be leaving Sam alone at his house, with the possibility of a raging John stumbling up the stairs with a raised hand and a beer, mistaking the younger Winchester boy for Dean.

That terrible fear manifested at the far corner of Dean’s mind each time the clock struck midnight in Cas’ room. Midnight was the latest Dean stayed, and his time was almost up on Thursday night when Cas suggested a late night activity.

“Geez, Cas,” Dean chuckled – he had paused in the middle of a long monologue, discussing the future, _his_ future, to glance at the time – “If I stayed here any longer, I’d be a resident.”

He pushed himself into a sitting position from where he lay on Cas’ rumpled sheets. The dark haired boy popped up from his seat on the floor, latching his hands onto Dean’s calves and resting his chin on one knee. “Please don’t go yet,” he muttered. “You haven’t finished explaining your lustful dreams and passionate aspirations to me! You simply _must_ finish.”

Dean bent forward to kiss his loving boyfriend’s forehead, his lips lingering on the soft skin for a moment. He smiled and brushed his nose against Castiel’s before giving him another peck, but on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, but you know I can’t leave Sammy alone there. I just can’t, Cas, if something happened I’d-”

The possibilities of what Dean would do, how he would react, were infinite. Castiel knew that much without Dean telling him every night when he snuck out of the one-story household, but there was always the friendly reminder.

“I know, Dean,” he begged, all traces of playfulness replaced with sincerity. “Please don’t think that I am acting selfishly, although I am, but let me steal you away this one night. I want to take you somewhere.”

Castiel’s eyes shined bright as he bounded up onto his feet, dragging Dean with him. Dean’s cautious nature immediately rose to the surface and he eyed his energetic friend warily. He had only seen Castiel like this once before, and that ended with Dean stuck in a library “admiring” all the ancient poetry books that Castiel had derived his writing style from.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved learning more about Cas and what made him tick, but Dean wasn’t much of a poet. Plus, the kid’s surprises seemed like they would always catch Dean off guard, no matter how simple they were. _Although to me they might be way outta the ballpark,_ he thought.

“Cas, I don’t think that-”

“No, you’re coming with me” – Castiel’s grip tightened – “and that’s final.”

“Alright,” Dean caved reluctantly. “At least it isn’t a Friday night. There’s only a slim chance that my dad’s in a mood tonight, or awake for that matter.”

He let Cas pull him through the window and onto the grass. They scurried across the lawn and out to the empty street, washed with the naked lights of the lamps lining the narrow road.

Castiel lived for these moments, and to spend them with Dean was a feeling like no other. He had visions like this where the world consisted of only him and Dean. There was no one else in this perfect place but them. Ignorant bigotry and angry uncles didn’t exist. Picnics and beat-up cars in need of a Winchester fix were by the hundreds. Days were graced with a cloudless sky, and the night with an array of twinkling stars. He laughed lightheartedly while he leapt in the air, overcome with a hearty sense of blissful freedom. If he felt this way now, he couldn’t imagine what it was going to be like when he brought Dean to the mysterious destination.

Not a single motor chugged down the dirt encrusted pavement on their way to wherever Cas was leading Dean. They were one hundred percent alone, both to their own unspoken desire. Although Dean was still suspicious of the gleam in Castiel’s eyes, his whole body was pulsating with adrenaline. The exhilaration that pumped through his veins had his heart racing faster than the speed of light. The feeling was otherworldly, almost alien-like.

“Are we almost there?” Dean called out.

Cas was well ahead of Dean, his head bobbing farther in the distance. His words were muffled, but Dean just barely heard that the secret destination Cas was raving about was just around the corner. The road had slimmed to resemble a walking path that led the two adventurous boys through a small patch of woods.

Croaking frogs sang their songs while Dean wandered through the trees, in step with Castiel and worrying whether he would lose him in the darkness. Just when he thought that he would lose sight of Cas, a firm hand slipped its fingers between his own. Dean smiled at his companion through the night and nudged him to carry on.

But they had arrived.

“Now, before you say anything, just,” Cas chewed his lip nervously, “trust me.”

They stood before an abandoned house, concealed behind still wildlife from the rest of the world. It was chilling and horrifying to Dean to be near such a creepy looking building, but if Cas said it was safe, then it was perfectly okay for him to feel safe. Yet, he didn’t. The shutters were torn off and tossed all over the poorly kept front yard. Although he couldn’t judge the house by that, because obviously someone had left it to rot until it was only a scrap of wood decomposing into the soil. He pitied the house. It had been starved of the love that comes with being a home, just like Dean had been.

“Never thought I’d ever relate myself to a house,” Dean scoffed quietly.

“What?” Castiel asked, utterly confused by Dean’s words.

“Nothing, let’s go inside.”

Once again, Castiel’s face shone brighter than the stars over their heads. Dean could tell that he was the happiest man alive tonight, and to be honest, Dean was too. To see Cas this happy when he lived in a world that wasn’t kind to him was refreshing, and somewhat comforting. Dean watched him from the corner of his eye while they walked hand-in-hand into the old house. The eager expression on Cas’ face made him look like he was a toddler who had been given a toy that would be his favorite until he had grown up and moved away. This house had sentimental value to only one person, that person being Cas, and that fact alone made Dean love Castiel more than anything. That’s if what he felt could even be seen as love.

The interior of the house looked worse than it did on the outside, if that was possible. All the walls had been torn down, making the house a hollowed out shell of what it once was. There were a few supporting columns scattered throughout the room to keep the partly-decaying second floor from caving in.

Dean slipped himself from Castiel’s hold and stepped to the center of the room. He spun slowly to embrace the entirety of it. A lonely emptiness overcame Dean so suddenly that he might have collapsed to the floor. The emotion was so overwhelming, and Dean bit back the tears that teased his eyelashes.

“Cas.” The word escaped his lips like steam slipping from the neck of a tea kettle.

In an instant, their fingers were intertwined again. That destitute feeling of emptiness was filled with Castiel’s humble affection, making Dean feel whole again. _Well_ , he mused, _semi-whole_.

Castiel gripped Dean’s arm, searching his eyes worriedly. “Dean? What is it? Do you not like it? We can leave if that’s what you-”

“No, Cas,” he chuckled, smiling through his sniffles. “I _love_ it. It hits home, no pun intended. But” – he faced Castiel, their noses less than an inch apart – “why did you bring me here?”

For a moment, Castiel was lost in Dean’s vibrant green irises. He blinked, coming back to his senses, and released Dean’s hand, walking backwards until the backs of his knees knocked against a table by the door. His fingers reached behind his back to drag something across a metal box. Scratchy noises filled the air, and Dean’s heart stuttered when he recognized the tune. Castiel stepped away from the record player to offer Dean his hand.

“I brought you here to dance, you fool,” Cas whispered, his eyes glazed. A small gasp passed through his moist lips when Dean stepped forward and placed his hand on Cas’ waist.

“ _Heaven, I’m in heaven_ ,” Dean cooed along with the music, whisking Castiel across the floor and into his arms. They swayed side to side, bodies closer than possibly imaginable as Fred Astaire’s liquid voice of gold flooded their ears. _“And I seem to find the happiness I seek when we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek_.”

Cas’ shoulders shook gently at Dean’s playful singing, but he was genuinely enjoying the comfort of Dean’s left palm grasping his own and the other sprawled across his back. He kissed Dean’s neck gingerly, sighing at the sweet taste of his skin. He eventually found himself exploring Dean’s lips and the prize behind them. The song faded to silence and the disc spun on the turntable until the next tune wafted through the air. Dean stopped to place both hands behind Cas’ neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

He could have listened to the swinging tunes all night long and well into the morning, dancing with Cas in this shitty house, but kissing the blue-eyed angel was far more entertaining at the moment. He had thought that holding Cas’ hand made him feel whole, when it was Castiel himself. He was a breath of life that had woken Dean when he had been stumbling through the darkness. Finally, he had seen the light, and standing in the old abandoned home that predicted the future of his own made him realize that this was what he had been searching for in Lisa.

Lisa and the hundreds of other girls he had mindlessly slept with over the past three years were nothing compared to the warmth and compassion he embraced with Castiel. Dean had been lost until Castiel had coincidentally found him. No, Dean didn’t believe in that.

“There are no coincidences,” he breathed, his lips brushing over Cas’ cheek.

“No, there aren’t.”

Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel’s, their breath coming together as one, and touched his lips to Cas’ lightly. The next song began, and Cas brought his hand back to Dean’s shoulder, initiating another graceful swing around the room. They hugged each other’s bodies and moved to the beat in perfect sync. Dean would never have imagined himself dancing, but here he was, completely in love, and twirling around the empty space with a man he considered his soul mate.

“Come with me,” Castiel whispered in Dean’s ear, leaving his arms to lead him up the stairs.

Tilting his head curiously, Dean allowed himself to be pulled into an empty bedroom on the second floor. He was nervous about the creaky floorboards, but there was a stable section in the far corner of the room. Conveniently, a bed lay atop the boards.

“What are you,” Dean began, but there wasn’t any need for an explanation.

Almost immediately, he started to strip himself of every piece of clothing he wore. Castiel did the same, only much smoother and with less fervor. Although he had led Dean to the bedroom, he seemed a lot more anxious. Hopefully he knew what he was doing because Dean surely didn’t.

Once they were completely naked, they gazed at each other’s pale bodies in the cool moonlight. Castiel was almost in tears, admiring Dean’s lean torso and throbbing cock. Dean stepped closer to his partner, breathing softly against his neck, the ghost of a kiss on his lips.

In a split second, Castiel lowered Dean to the bed, diving on top of him, eager to join their lips. They rocked in a synchronized motion, Dean’s hips grinding against Cas’ thigh.

“New to me,” Dean gasped as the hungry pair of lips moved down his neck, leaving a trail of kisses down his torso. “I don’t really –”

“Don’t worry.” Cas cooed between kisses. “We’re both new.”

Dean smiled, gripping a tuft of Cas’ hair as he worked his way to Dean’s hips. He bucked under Cas’ soft touch, wanting those damn lips and fingers on every inch of his body.

“Cas,” he whispered, or rather grunted, as the dark-haired head returned to eye level.

“Yes?”

“R-ready.”

Castiel’s eyes glittered excitedly, but he squinted with surprise as Dean turned things around. Gripping Cas’ hips, Dean quickly switched places with him, hovering above him.

“I love you.” Castiel whispered breathlessly.

With a sigh against Cas’ lips, Dean took in the weight of his lover’s words.

“I love you, too,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut.

Castiel smiled, lifting his hand to rub his thumb on his boyfriend’s cheek. He sang quietly, brushing his nose against Dean’s.

 “ _Look who’s here_ , _look who’s here_ , _here’s the boy I’m mad about._ _Oh my dear_ , _when he’s near_ , _I just feel like passing out.”_

They both fell into a steady rhythm, their bodies moving with each other easily and wrapped in each other’s arms.

**٭**

A few days later, the evening sky was beautiful. The clouds caressed the sky with soft hues of pink and blue. Cas gazed up at the ornate canvas above their heads. He smiled, poking Dean’s side and pointing at the picturesque scene. Dean pretended to watch the sky with him, but instead he focused on his boyfriend. Cas’ awestruck expression blew him away. _He’s beautiful_ , Dean thought, _and he’s mine._

He inched his fingers towards Cas’ palm, his entire being itching to grasp it in his own and squeeze their hands together until they were one mold. They were nearing the circle of families enjoying the neighborhood’s Fourth of July part. Dean couldn’t risk anyone see them show each other signs of affection. Doing so would ruin Castiel’s future for him in this prejudiced town. Word would spread like wildfire and soon the whole damn state would know about Castiel’s “sexual preferences”.

Dean wouldn’t be the one to destroy Cas’ chances of making a life for himself in Kansas, or anywhere really. It would be the death of him to know he had screwed that up for Cas, that it was _his_ fault.

“Dean? Dean, are you alright?”

Castiel’s gentle voice tugged Dean from his thoughts. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder reassuringly. “I’m fine. Enjoying the night, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Cas tilted his head to the side, a habit of his. Dean always teased him about it. “Well, I certainly enjoyed last night.”

He hung his head sheepishly. Although Castiel had been confident last night, he stuttered every time he mentioned their special evening together. But Dean quickly changed that earlier that day when he told Castiel he loved him until he was blue in the face. He would never forget the grin that spread across Cas’ face.

“We don’t have to go to the party. We could go back to my house. Zachariah left to run errands, and Anna is here with Gabriel somewhere, so we would have the house to ourselves.”

“As tempting as that is,” he stopped Cas, grabbing his wrist, pulling him close. “I want to go. We’ve never spent time together in front of other people and I’m sick of hiding myself away. Even if we can’t give ourselves away just yet, I at least want us to be seen in public as friends.”

Cas nodded, inches away from Dean’s lips. He stared longingly at them, wishing things were easier, but it would never be easy. No matter how long they waited, the world would always greet them with persecution. Shaking his head, Castiel blinked away the tears that always appeared when he thought about their inescapable hardships. He laughed softly, turning towards the party.

After clearing his throat, he gestured to the shindig. “Ready?”

Dean’s brows furrowed deeply over his eyes, wondering if it was something he said that had upset Castiel. He knew how sensitive Cas could be, but what was it that he said to make him so… _distant…_ like this?

Before he could respond and apologize for whatever he did, a hurtling mass of human threw itself on Dean. The two tangled bodies dropped to the ground, rolling around on the dusty street. Dean, his eyes blinded by the sand, struggled to wrench himself away from the stranger who tackled him. He could hear Castiel’s muffled yells and feel his hands clutching at the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him away from the tussle.

“What the hell, man?” Dean coughed, leaning away from the stranger and into Castiel’s chest. “Care to warn a guy before you shove him to the ground?”

“Good to see you too, brother,” the stranger chuckled, gazing at Dean through the cloud of dust.

The voice sounded familiar, like an old family friend, but Dean suddenly realized through the fog that the man kneeling next to him was more than that.

“Jesus,” Dean laughed. He brushed himself off and, with help from Cas, pushed himself off the ground. “Benny, don’t go around scaring people like that or you’ll get yourself killed.”

“Sorry, Dean, but it’s been a while. I couldn’t help myself.” Benny Lafitte held out his hand, looking for a handshake but instead receiving a hefty tug onto his feet.

Dean lifted him from the ground and right into a bear hug that made up for the years lost between them. The last time the two best friends saw each other was Christmas of ’33, when they were both ten and thicker than thieves. That year, before the clock struck midnight on December 31st, Benny’s mother passed away. Since his father had already passed a few years before that, the young boy was left with no relatives to take care of him, except for his aunt and uncle that lived in Florida. So for New Year’s Benny lost his mother and Dean lost his best friend. It was a tough time for them both at such a young age.

“Still in Florida, then?”

“Still in Florida, but I’m thinking about moving back home.” He scratched the back of his neck, running a hand over his neatly buzzed haircut.

 “Oh really?” Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “What made you decide that? Florida been tough on you?”

“I haven’t decided yet, and no. It’s been pretty kind to me, but I miss home. I miss the friends I left behind seven years ago. Plus, I’ll be off to college in a year, so why not make a giant leap instead of a little one, you know?”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.” Dean glanced at Cas from the corners of his eyes, who had nudged him subtly.

He cocked an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes in question at his silent boyfriend. Cas only nodded slightly towards Benny, which confused Dean even more. Dean’s oblivious behavior irritated Cas to no end, so he rolled his eyes and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Could you, I don’t know, maybe introduce me to your friend?” He sighed, embarrassed that he had to ask. The sass dripped from his words.

“Right, I’m-” Dean faced Benny and stuttered apologetically. “I’m sorry for being so rude – this is my friend Cas. Cas, this is Benny Lafitte, old time family friend.”

“Castiel Novak,” Cas corrected, offering his full name and a hand. “Pleasure.”

Staring at Dean knowingly, Benny shook Castiel’s hand firmly with a sly smile. “Pleasure is all mine, Mr. Castiel. Have you and Dean known each other long?”

A ghost of a smile graced Benny’s lips as he stood back to watch the couple. Dean knew that he could trust his old friend with their secret, but he wasn’t sure if Castiel was as comfortable as he was with sharing their personal relationship. Cas was more reserved than Dean was, and he supposed that’s how it always would be between them.

People said opposites attract. It was something Dean used to hear all the time. When his buddy Ash, the dorkiest kid to ever exist, dated an extremely attractive girl from their high school, he would always say:

“Hey, opposites attract, right?”

And Dean would always shake his head in response, laughing at Ash’s carefree approach to his relationships. He never really cared if they lasted one night or one month. Yet when he fell hard for one girl and she rejected him, his view on opposites was never the same. That was when Dean realized that not every square peg fits in a round hole, no matter how hard you force one into the other. If it doesn’t feel right, then it won’t ever work right.

_I guess that’s why Cas being so reserved is scaring me. What if I’m the square peg?_

“Earth to Dean.” Benny’s hand waved in front of Dean’s blank expression.

“S-sorry,” he chuckled anxiously, “I guess I got lost in my thoughts for a minute. What, um, what were we talking about again?”

The trio was silent for a moment while Castiel looked at Dean worriedly. Dean doesn’t just get “ _lost in his thoughts_ ” like that. He’s constantly living in the present, occasionally living in the past, and the first to respond to anyone. The absence in his eyes frightened Castiel, but hopefully it would only be a one-time thing for Dean.

“I was just telling Benny how we’ve known each other for about a month now,” Cas reminded him, smiling softly.

“I think he forgot to mention that it must have been the best month of his life” – Benny laughed and wiggled his eyebrows playfully at Dean – “Dean here is known to give anybody a good time if they’re looking for it.”

The awkward silence that followed Benny’s suggestive comment was suffocating. Castiel nearly choked on the thick air that cut them off from the rest of the party. If his reaction wasn’t embarrassing enough, Dean’s face turned the color of deep magenta. _There goes trusting Benny with the secret,_ he mused, _he can already fucking tell. Perfect._

Dean hooked his finger on the collar of the white t-shirt underneath his jacket and tugged it to loosen the strain around his neck. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the whole world was shrinking around him and suddenly he would be hurtled into space to drift alone forever. Maybe he was exaggerating a bit, but Benny’s comment was killing him. Was the secret night spent between Dean and Cas that obvious? Was it plastered all over their faces, the lust and love?

Dean was no longer the cocky and charismatic guy he used to be. Seeing that his friend expected him to be raving about shagging some guy he’s known for a month made his stomach lurch. He did want to tell someone about it, but he knew that not one person he knew would understand the feelings he had for Cas.

“How could you tell?”

When Castiel’s gravelly voice, soaked with a quiet fear, spoke before Benny had the chance to explain his methods of deduction, both boys were shocked. Out of the trio that stood huddled a decent distance from the partying crowd, none of them expected Castiel to be the first to speak. Even Cas himself was surprised at his confidence, but once again, before Benny could open his lips to respond, someone else interrupted him.

“Dean? DEAN!”

The thunderous yell woke them from their separated realities. Hearing his name called not once, but twice, Dean spun around faster than a racing horse bolting from its stable. He searched the crowd for whoever screamed for his attention, and it wasn’t until he saw his Uncle Bobby barreling toward him at high speed that he heard the terror in his voice.

“Come…with…me,” Bobby panted, grabbing onto Dean’s arm for support as he bent over his knees. He sucked in the hot and humid air as deeply as he could to regain his breath, stumbling while he pulled Dean towards the direction he had come from.

“Why? Bobby, what’s wrong?” Dean gripped his uncle’s shoulders tightly, shaking him until his eyes rolled to meet Dean’s. They were tired and brimming with an overwhelming horror.

“It’s…your dad…he…he’s…” The old man wheezed with every word he sputtered out, like a car stuttering to a halt when it runs out of gas.

A bloodcurdling shriek cut Bobby off from his short-winded explanation, which set Dean on edge. He abandoned his uncle where he stood and tore through the clusters of friendly neighbors towards the sound. Sweat dripped from his forehead, rolling down his chin and soaking his shirt. Anxiety exploded through his veins and he ran faster, eyes darting this way and that until he spotted the woman clutching a handkerchief to her lips.

Dean slowed to a stop beside her. He looked around for the cause of her frightening scream until his eyes landed on the disturbing scene.

The acidic bile that rose in his throat was nothing compared to the sight before him. All of a sudden, Dean’s knees buckled and he was on all fours, squinting at the mangled body tossed like a rag doll onto the steaming pavement. His father’s dead eyes stared blankly back at him, a trail of blood trickling across his forehead and down the bridge of his nose.

The world around him was silent. Someone upstairs must have hit the mute button because the only noise in Dean’s ears was a deafening, high-pitched ringing. He couldn’t hear his own screams that ripped through his throat and shattered the eardrums of all those who were listening. Two pairs of hands wrapped around his chest, pulling him away from the unsettling picture in front of him. Dean didn’t fight back, but he clung to the two hands – the ones he could recognize if he were blindfolded.

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion.

Gripping Castiel’s side, Dean turned into his chest and cried.

He cried for all of the bad things that had ever happened to him and his family and for the part of his family he just lost. Dean blamed that son of a bitch for getting himself killed. It was bound to happen sooner or later, what with his father’s infamous drinking habits, but Dean never thought he would have to witness it himself. He thought that he would be long gone and off to college before _this_ happened.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, “the ambulance is on its way, so are the police. Can I please take you away from here? I don’t think you should have seen this.”

Dean nodded absentmindedly at Castiel’s request. He allowed himself to be picked up off the ground by both Benny and Cas like a small child. His muscles turned to liquid, and suddenly the only thing supporting his weight was Cas. He was Dean’s rock, his foundation, his everything. Cas was the only person Dean trusted right then and there to carry him home. Only him and

“Sammy, I need to find Sammy, where is he?” Dean mumbled, searching the crowd for his younger brother.

 _He has to be around here somewhere. I know I left him at the house, but God knows he came to talk to Jessica_.

Sam had been obsessed with Jessica Moore for weeks before Dean heard about her. It was only when he got home one night to find him and Jessica kissing on the couch that Dean discovered that _shit, Sam can actually woo a girl_ and _man, he has the guts to take her home when John could walk in any second_. Dean appraised his younger brother, but warned him that maybe next time they should take it to his bedroom. Although, not in _that_ sense. He didn’t have to explain _that_.

“You said he stayed home.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean that he didn’t decide to leave after I did,” Dean grumbled, pushing himself away from Cas’ protective grasp. He stumbled through the group of people crowding the tragic scene and desperately tried to forget his father’s dead body lying not ten feet away from him. _Sammy,_ he needed to find _Sammy_.

“Sam?” He called out, standing on the tips of his toes, his neck craning over the gathering of heads. “SAMMY?”

“DEAN!”

At the sound of his brother’s voice, Dean sighed with relief. “Sammy! Where are you?”

“Behind you! Over here!”

Dean spun around, frantically searching for that mop of brown hair. He finally spotted the thirteen year old, his head towering over the group of people. Sam kicked it into gear and ran at full speed once he spotted Dean. He catapulted himself into his brother’s arms, sinking into their warm embrace. Dean planted a sloppy kiss on the top of his little brother’s head, his tears collecting on his eyelashes, dripping onto Sam’s head.

“W-what are we go-going to do?” Sam hiccupped.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “But I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you, little brother.”


	6. Six

 

After the coroner arrived and sped off with the deceased Winchester patriarch to the morgue, Dean took Sam home. Benny offered to drive them, but Dean couldn’t make himself say yes. He was never one to ask for help, because he needed to be strong, for himself and for Sam. Even accepting a ride back to the house would tear him apart. In that moment, Dean was the most fragile he’d ever been and ever would be. But Benny insisted, and Dean caved. As he, Sam, and Benny piled into the Lafitte family car, a hand rested on Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” Cas’ voice wavered, and he gripped Dean’s jacket tighter. “Please, let me help.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Dean, don’t do this,” he begged, grasping Dean’s shoulder like it was the only thing holding them together.

He needed to hear Dean say that they were okay. John was one of the factors over the past few days that were keeping them apart. Long hours wasted at the auto shop, nights out that had Dean watching Sam at home, even sending Dean to his room as punishment for stupid things. John Winchester may have been a drunk, but he wasn’t a fool. He saw how close Dean and Castiel had gotten. He saw the signs and, almost too late, tried to prevent them from leading to something more. All that and the heavy weight of secrecy were getting to Dean’s head, sending him over the edge.

And now Cas worried that he’d already taken the last step towards the final plunge.

“I have to.” Dean cracked, pushing Cas’ hand away from him, breaking their bond. He slid into the car next to Sam and shut the door to block Cas’ outstretched hands. But Cas pursued like any Prince Charming would.

“Do you remember? Do you remember when I said we have a deep bond, a profound bond!” – Castiel pressed his palms against the glass, frantically trying to grasp onto something that wasn’t there – “You said yourself that we would be the ones to prove them wrong! Where’s _that_ Dean, huh? Where’s that bond?!”

Dean lowered his head away from the scene that Cas was causing. He never wanted this. All he wanted was for he and Cas to move away together one day, to leave his father behind, beating the crap out of Zachariah along the way. _But no,_ Dean laughed sadly, _I’m left with this_.

“Where’s the Dean I fell in love with?”

Cas had struck a nerve. Dean looked up at him. He was Dean’s lighthouse, a beacon guiding him home in the darkness, but Dean was blinded. He was looking straight into the heart of the light. It was overwhelming him. The darkness surrounding him was providing a cool, soothing alternative, and it was tempting. Dean couldn’t help but succumb to its shadows.

“I don’t know, Castiel. Give me time,” he added, “to find him.”

Cas trembled with fear. He was losing Dean, he could feel it, but he would give him that time. He imagined that something in Dean’s head clicked when he saw John’s lifeless body sprawled across the main road. He wasn’t sure what, but he would give Dean all the time he had left, as long as they met each other at the end of their own road. Dean _would_ be happy, damn it, and Cas would make sure of it.

“Benny?”

Castiel watched as the Winchesters drove away. Although he had no idea when he would see Dean again, Cas wouldn’t give up. He would fight for their right to love, even if it killed him. He would walk to the ends of the Earth and back for that boy. Isn’t that what true love meant? That you would do anything to see that person alive, well, and smiling?

And Cas would sell his soul to see Dean that way.

If only he could.

**٭**

It felt like hours before Castiel was at home lying in his bed. He spread his legs wide against the sheets and tucked his arms under his head, absorbing as much of the coolness as he could. Zachariah had been puttering around in the garage when Castiel trudged up the front steps. He was relieved to be able to sneak in the house without having to answer his uncle’s usual pestering questions.

_Where were you?_

_Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?_

_Who were you with?_

_Was it that Winchester boy?_

Castiel lied constantly saying he had been with another friend, or he took Gabriel out for ice cream, or Anna had driven him to the library. He wished the lying would stop, because he was exhausted by it. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt in his body for risking his uncle’s trust. After all he had done to suffocate Castiel in that damn house he didn’t deserve Cas’ trust. He deserved what was coming to him.

The more Cas thought about it, the stranger it seemed that Zachariah wasn’t at the party earlier. He wondered what the old man did all day. Surely he didn’t spend it in the garage or at work, since neither had any business today. Zachariah usually paid someone to look at his car for repair work or sprucing up. Why was he doing it himself?

_Maybe I should check on him…_

The house was silent as Cas made his way down the stairs and through the kitchen. Gabriel had shut himself in his room as soon as they got home after the incident. He had been with Sam up until Dean brought Sam home, which confused Castiel. _Since when were they friends_? He had never seen them together before. He didn’t even know that they knew each other.

When Cas opened the side door that led into the garage, Zachariah knelt at the front of his car with a large rag. With one hand steady on the bumper, the other worked itself over the hood with the rag, cleaning up an invisible mess. It wasn’t until Cas rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb that Zachariah noticed his nephew. The older fellow was quiet and composed, which threw off Castiel’s suspicions.

“Hello, Castiel. Have fun at the library, did you?” He said with a smile, his hand continuing to rub the metal hood.

“Yes.” Cas squinted. “What did you do today, uncle?”

“Oh, nothing much, really. I was just out and about, running some errands.”

“You didn’t happen to stop at the party down the street, did you?”

“I did for a while, but it got much too crowded for my tastes, son.” Zachariah stood from his spot and tossed the still spotless rag into a bucket at his side. “Did you need something?”

Cas hesitated. This was his moment to call out Zachariah on his bullshit. He was too calm and collected considering everything that happened today, which of course he had to have heard about. Zachariah was too invested with the wrongdoings of the Winchesters that as soon as the hood of that damned car touched John Winchester’s skin, he would have been raving about it. His quiet innocence seemed sincere, but something about his uncle’s sudden interest in cleaning his car made Castiel push farther.

“Did you hear, uncle? About Mr. Winchester?”

“Why,” Zachariah’s eyes sparkled mischievously, “I did, tragic thing, isn’t it?”

Now Cas knew that his uncle was lying. The sarcasm was oozing from his lips. He was hiding his joy about John’s death, making Castiel want to punch the smug twinkle from his goddamn eyes. Cas wanted to pound his fists into his uncle’s body until his fingers were numb. His anger bubbled in his veins until he couldn’t suppress his feelings any longer.

 “Don’t lie,” Castiel spat. “I know what you did!”

“Dear nephew, what do you mean?” Zachariah’s playful ignorance was sickening.

“Stop the bullshit, Zachariah! I know you did it. I know you, you.” Cas stepped closer with every word he growled. He puffed out his chest until he towered over his uncle. The rage inside of him exploded through his words, but Zachariah wasn’t fazed.

“What proof do you have?” Zachariah chuckled. Cas stuttered in his answer, dropping his eyes to the floor. He had none. “Exactly. And if I _had_ done it, it wouldn’t have been in front of other people. What sort of possible-murderer do you think I am?”

“ _Don’t. Lie. You. Bastard!_ ”

“CASTIEL!” Zachariah bellowed. “Stop pestering me and finish your chores! This is absolute nonsense. Not only that, but you are acting incredibly disrespectful. So get out my face, or get out of my house!”

Heaving with unsettling fury, Castiel stared at his uncle, hoping that the anger would flood his system and get him to tell the truth. When he realized that that was only wishful thinking, he stormed out of the garage and into the street. Zachariah didn’t bother to call after him because Castiel was obedient. He would be back after a while; no matter how far he went he always returned. Naomi had raised Castiel the right way, but those damn Winchesters were getting in the way of his upbringing. They were the reason for Castiel’s rebellious behavior.

And hopefully without a father, both the Winchester boys would leave Castiel alone.

Zachariah chuckled darkly, tucking in the front of his shirt. He recollected himself before shutting the garage door. The sun was slowly sinking behind the row of houses across the street. Afternoon melted into dusk.

Zachariah wondered where Castiel had gone, but he didn’t need to worry for long. He sighed angrily and slammed the garage door shut. A muffled voice called for him from inside the house, and then footsteps pitter-pattered along the kitchen linoleum.

Gabriel’s head poked out from the door leading into the house. He pursed his lips worriedly. “Where’s Cas?”

“Out.” Zachariah turned around with a smile plastered on his face. “Don’t worry about him. He went on an errand for me. He’ll be home soon.”

“Okay.” The word rolled off Gabriel’s tongue effortlessly. He was used to accepting Zachariah’s explanations as truth, even if he knew something was up. It was just easier that way.

Zachariah could sense Gabriel’s uneasiness. “Go on inside and we’ll go out somewhere, just you and me. How does that sound?”

Gabriel nodded, a small smile growing on his lips. “Can we go for an ice cream?”

“Sure.” His uncle rolled his eyes teasingly. “You and your sweets, boy.”

In a wink, Gabriel was bounding across the room and throwing his arms around Zachariah. The unexpected embrace caught Zachariah off guard. He wasn’t much of a hugger, but he wrapped his arms around his nephew softly, patting Gabriel’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Uncle Zach?”

“Um, yes, Gabriel?”

“Do you think we could,” Gabriel’s voice faltered. He knew his uncle wouldn’t like what he was about to say, but he felt he could persuade Zachariah in giving him what he wanted.

“Yes?” Zachariah asked warily.

“Could we see if Sam Winchester wants to join us?” Gabriel shut his eyes, waiting for his scolding.

“Gabriel, I don’t think that would be wise. He must be mourning right now. We wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

Gabriel nodded. “I-I understand.”

“Go put on your shoes and then meet me at the front door. We can walk to the shop,” Zachariah sighed tiredly. He wished he could let Gabriel be friends with the younger Winchester boy, but he couldn’t risk it. The entire family was bad news.

He watched as Gabriel followed his commands without hesitation. The golden-eyed boy was such a good little soldier, brave and ready for war. Too bad his older brother wasn’t like that. Castiel’s attitude would cost him if he were ever to enlist.

The air shivered as the cold hands of war crept towards the surface. Zachariah could feel it in his bones, and he knew that Castiel was doomed to be recruited. He smirked and hoped that was the case. Maybe war would be the death of Dean and Castiel’s friendship and shatter the chances of them becoming something more.

It was either war, or Zachariah.

And the boys better wish for the war.


	7. Seven

 

Dean had no idea what to do.

He was faced with the task of sending letters out to those possibly interested in attending his father’s funeral. Bobby was in charge of planning the ceremony, because neither Dean nor Sam knew what to do. Dean felt useless as he tapped his pencil on the stack of fresh envelopes. He wanted to be doing _something_ for his dad, and sitting there like a bump on a log wasn’t the something he was thinking of.

Dean kept thinking _“What would Cas do?”_ , but that was getting him nowhere.

Cas would come up with an elaborate poem and share it with everyone. He would knock people back on their heels with his beautiful talent, leaving them speechless and teary-eyed. If only Dean could do that. Even if he could, it wasn’t like there would be anyone to wow. He suspected that about two or three people were going to show up, and that was only if Dean could find two or three people to invite.

After an hour of staring blankly at the stack of envelopes, Dean wrote out three letters. One to Missouri, an old family friend; one to Caleb, a close friend and old co-worker of John’s; and finally, one to Mary Winchester, in case she still cared.

Dean licked the seals shut and gently pushed them to the side of the table. Now that that was done, he had absolutely nothing to do. He debated whether or not to take Sam for a ride to get out of the house for a while, but his younger brother hadn’t come out of his room since the accident. It worried Dean, but he knew that people grieved differently. Come to think of it, the way Dean was reacting to the whole thing was, although expected, admirable. He was composed when deep down he knew that all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and lay in Cas’ bed forever.

A sharp pang ripped through his chest at the thought of Castiel. Dean knew he was the one who asked for time alone, but he couldn’t help missing Cas. Everything about the blue-eyed boy was perfect. He was Dean’s own personal angel sent from heaven.

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled to himself, rubbing his hands over his eyes. It had been two days since the accident and two days since he had a decent night of sleep. _It’s catching up to me_ ; he yawned.

Tossing the pencil to the side, Dean scooped the letters into his hand. He grabbed his jacket from the railing at the bottom of the stairs, shoving one arm in its sleeve.

“Sam?” he called out. “I’m going to the post office. Wanna tag along?”

He waited a minute, expecting no response. After he counted to ten three times, Dean shook his head and fished his keys from the pile of useless junk on the kitchen counter. His hand was on the doorknob when several thumps and bangs echoed from the second floor. Dean hesitated at the door. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Sam bounded down the steps with his leather jacket – an old one of Dean’s – on. Dean smiled and clapped his palm across Sam’s shoulder.

“Good to see you, buddy. You were so quiet I thought you had” – Dean stopped himself before he went out of line and said _died_ – “buried yourself under all those clothes in your room. I thought I’d have to dig through to get you out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam scoffed, side-stepping from Dean’s touch. He waited patiently for Dean to open the door, but Dean frowned.

“Hey,” Dean nudged his little brother’s shoulder gently. “It’s going to be okay, Sammy. I’ll make sure of it, alright? Just trust me.”

Sam laughed incredulously, shaking his head. “You don’t get it do you, Dean? Our dad’s dead, our mom walked out on us, and…”

He brought a hand to his cheek to wipe away the tears that struggled to escape. Laughing again, Sam opened the flood gate that allowed his pent-up emotions from the past two days to roll down his cheeks. He looked at Dean dejectedly, his eyes aging him fifty years, making him look wiser.

“And it’s not okay. Nothing will ever be okay for us. Life keeps kicking our asses time and time again. I’m sick of it, but guess what? There’s nothing we can do but sit down and take it.”

Dean was speechless. His mouth popped open to speak, but there was nothing he could say that would make the situation any better. He wanted to say something along the lines of: _We may get kicked in the ass, but we get back up, don’t we?_ or _We’re Winchesters, nothing’s ever easy, but we get through it together, don’t we?_ He wanted to tell Sam all of those things and more. But for some reason he choked on the words before they could roll off his tongue.

“You know what, I’ll hold down the fort while you go out,” Sam huffed, shrugging off his jacket. “And if you get the chance, go see Cas. The poor guy thinks you’ll never speak to him again.”

Sam began to retreat to his bedroom, but Dean reached an arm out, stopping him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Cas misses you. He’s worried that he’s lost you. Get your shit together and fix it while you still have the chance.”

“But it’s not broken! Our father died and all I asked for was for a little space. Is that so bad?”

“It is when you break it off like you did. It’s complicated as it is, Dean. You’re both men. I’m sorry, but that isn’t “socially acceptable”, if you didn’t notice. I’m not saying that I’m against it, but there’s a whole world out there that is. So if you don’t fix it, no one else will.”

The brother’s locked eyes for a moment, time unfurling between them and dancing between their gaze. For a moment, it’s just them. Then Dean realizes that it will be only them for a long time. They’re the only two left, the last support beams of their crumbling home. They had lost everything but the foundation. They had to support each other now, no matter what got in their way.

Sam turned away once more, about to storm off after having the last word, but Dean stopped him one more time. He had a bone to pick with the kid.

“How the hell do you know all that? About Cas, I mean.” Dean eyed his brother suspiciously.

“He told me,” Sam remarked. He said it so simply that it threw Dean off.

“He told you? How? You’ve been locked up in your room these past couple days. How could you have-”

“I snuck out, Dean.” He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Just because a door is closed doesn’t mean that someone’s behind it.”

Dean narrowed his gaze, squinting even more so at Sam, trying to see the real reason of why he snuck out. He had a hunch, but it couldn’t be true. Otherwise…

“Have you been” – his eyes snapped open when he realized that he _was_ right; it was the only explanation – “You’ve been going to see Gabriel, haven’t you?”

Sam’s stomach dropped, his face flushing bright red. He ‘umm-ed’ and ‘uh-ed’ frantically, pressing against Dean’s firm grip in means of escape. He was obviously flustered and Dean practically purred when he sensed victory.

“N-no, well yeah, but we’re friends,” Sam stuttered.

“Mm, _friends_ , that’s a good one, Sammy. How long has this been going on?”

Dropping his head, Sam mumbled his answer, too embarrassed to look his brother in the eyes and tell him the truth.

“What was that?”

“I said,” he shut his eyes, raising his voice, “that it’s been _going on_ since Cas moved in, maybe a week after, I don’t know okay? Butt out.”

Dean chuckled as he finally let Sam run off to hide in his bedroom. _Sammy has a crush on the brother of the man I love_. _It’s funny how things work these days_. Tossing the keys into the air and clutching them tightly upon their return to his palm, a smile played on Dean’s lips while he opened the door and stepped out into the breezy summer afternoon.

Birds were singing, flowers were in full bloom – although some of them were dying from the heat – and the sun was high in the sky. Everything seemed fine, normal almost, but it wasn’t. And Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to fix it.

 _Sam was right though,_ he thought _. If I don’t fix it, who will?_

٭

The post office was deserted, as were the streets, when Dean arrived with the letters clutched in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. He rolled past the door, hastily parking and poking his head inside for a moment to toss the envelopes on the table. Hopefully Marty would see them when he got back from wherever and have them mailed by the morning. Marty used to let Dean lick the stamps on packages when he was little. It seemed funny to Dean how much time had gone by.

By the time he returned to the driver’s seat, Dean had already decided to drop by the convenient store and grab a bottle of _something_. His body had been aching for a taste of bitter alcohol, one that’ll burn his throat and brew in his stomach, but he didn’t dare touch his dad’s secret stash. Although it wasn’t so secret, the creaky floorboard in the kitchen was a creative spot to hide the mostly empty bottles. Dean had to admire his father for his vivid imagination.

 _Or, whatever_ , Dean shrugged.

He leaned back in his seat slowly, closing his eyes. Inhaling the musky leather scent that washed over him, he relaxed his shoulders and tried to enjoy the silence. He smiled, trying to grasp onto the peace that was quickly slipping away. A car rumbled by, breaking the tranquil setting, and suddenly Dean couldn’t control himself. The bonds broke and the animal that had been dormant beneath his bones awoke, releasing his frustration.

Dean pounded his fists against the steering wheel again and again. A few times his hand grazed the horn and sharp blasts of an ear-shattering wail pierced the air. The sound didn’t bother Dean, nor did it tear him away from his white hot rage. He continued to beat out all of his anger on the steering wheel, but this time he carefully avoided the horn. So many thoughts rushed through his mind, jumbled and scattered like a puzzle dumped onto a table at a mental ward.

**_Smack._ **

_For his dead father._

**_Smack._ **

_For his doomed relationship._

**_Smack._ **

_For every time he’s fucked up everything good in his life._

The last one was a heavy blow and Dean collapsed back into his seat. The aggravation and resentment had surged from his knuckles and into the now-worn leather that wrapped around the wheel. Dean was left broken and bruised afterwards, panting like a dog, suffocating in his car’s stuffy interior. All of his energy was spent pounding away at his innocent, precious vehicle, and what was Dean left with? _Disappointment in himself_.

So he wept.

He curled up against the door, resting his forehead on the window, and he wept. The heavy sobs that wracked his body rose deep from his soul. He didn’t know why he always pulled the short end of the stick. It wasn’t fair. After all the sacrifices he’s made for his family and others, and he’s the one stuck with the crippling self-hatred and a depression that has never failed to subtly creep up on him.

Once the tears began to fall, Dean immediately wished for a drink to drown his painful sobs. It wasn’t the best idea, and he knew he would regret it later, but it was the only thing clouding his mind.

_Worth a shot, ain’t it?_

Raising his head clumsily, he wiped the salty droplets from his cheeks and underneath his eyes. Dean shoved the gear stick into drive, and through his poor, watery vision, directed himself to the nearest liquor store. He was a great deal underage, but his dad was – _used to be_ – friends with the owner – _Christ_ , _I know everyone in town_ , _don’t I?_ One day those connections were going to come back to haunt Dean, though he didn’t know when, or why. Karma, fate, _one of those_.

Dean arrived at the store in poor shape, and left with the poison that was going to put him into even worse shape. He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be diving head first into a sickness that had slowly killed his dad for years. _Huh, now that I think about it, I’m surprised that a car killed him and not the devil’s drink._

John Winchester was the town drunk; everyone associated him with some kind of alcohol. It was his way of life, and people assumed that Dean would be the next of kin to follow in his footsteps.

And there Dean was, doing exactly what those snooty people predicted he would do. He was giving in. Sam crossed his mind over and over again, but the drink washed him away. It buried Sammy, drowned him in an amber liquid that helped Dean to mourn how he was born to. It had only been a matter of time before Dean slipped into his father’s habits – _old_ habits.

He was surprised that it took him so long.


	8. Eight

 

The funeral was tomorrow and there was still no word from Caleb. Dean had expected him to be the first to respond, but there was nothing. Even Bobby had expected him to show up, guns-a-blazing, muttering furiously about killing the son of a bitch who ran over his closest friend. However, John hadn’t been much of a friend to Caleb over the past few years. The only “friend” that John had in those years was his living room couch. Or the guy at the convenient store that always kept a six-pack under the counter for him whenever he stopped by.

It was safe to say that John hadn’t been very social in the last years of his life, and that much was expected of him.

Now it was Saturday night, and Dean was pacing his room. He was worried that he was going to have nothing to say about his dad to the one or two people that would be at the funeral. He had to say _something_ though. John was his dad, and even though he had done a piss-poor job, he had kept a roof over their heads. If Mary hadn’t left then their dad would have still been alive. Her leaving had been the death of him.

Before Dean could make another lap around his room, a roaring engine rolled into the driveway and sputtered to a stop. He listened carefully as Sam ran to the front door and opened it to greet whoever had arrived. There was an awkward pause before murmurs filled the silence, but their voices were too quiet for Dean to decipher. He had no idea who would come this late at night.

“Dean?” Sam called. “Someone is here to see you.”

Dean licked his lips and called back, “Send them up here.”

Another pause. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s brows furrowed over his curious squint. _Why’s Sam so hesitant to let whoever it is upstairs?_

He finally decided to sit down when the person began to climb the staircase. Whoever it was, they were taking way too long to reach Dean’s bedroom. He listened as the shuffling feet passed by Sam’s room first, probably glancing inside for sign of Dean. It was when his visitor was just about to peek inside Dean’s room that he realized who had come.

Castiel poked his head through the door. His eyes rested on Dean’s, his tongue quickly grazing his lips. His voice was thick as he said, “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas, uh, Castiel,” Dean stuttered. “This is a surprise.”

“I know, Dean, and I’m sorry. I know you said you wanted time alone and space, but your father’s funeral is tomorrow. I came to ask if it would be alright if Gabriel and I came to the funeral. It’s okay if you would rather we didn’t, but I know that Gabriel would be devastated if-”

“Yes,” Dean whispered while Cas’ words fumbled in his mouth.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “But, yes? You said yes?”

“Yes,” Dean repeated. “I don’t see why not. I’m sure that Sam would love for Gabriel to be there with him. They’re friends anyways. Right?”

Cas nodded. “Right, friends.”

Another awkward pause passed between them. It was almost like Cas couldn’t get enough of them. He stood at Dean’s door, eyes glued to the floor, as he thought about what to say next. Dean was doing the same thing from his spot on the bed.

“Cas?”

Dean chewed his lip nervously. He didn’t want to ask for Cas’ help, but who else was he going to turn to? Bobby was no good in terms of the favor Dean was about to ask, and neither was Sam. Benny hadn’t talked to Dean at all in the past couple days, so all that was left was Cas. And Dean felt guilty for ditching the guy and then suddenly asking him for a favor.

 _I really don’t have any other choice, though_. He panicked, biting at the loose flesh coming apart on his bottom lip.

“Yes?” Castiel answered much too hopefully.

“I,” Dean sighed. “I need your help with something.”

“Anything, Dean. What do you need?”

“Well, I can’t” – even now Dean was having trouble finding the right words – “think of anything to say tomorrow, for my dad’s funeral and…”

“And?” Cas stepped forward, easing the rest of the words out of Dean.

“And I was wondering if you could help me think of something to say. Or – you know what? Never mind, this was stupid. Forget I asked.”

Dean stood to lead Cas to the front door, but Cas surprised him by grabbing his wrist. The movement wasn’t rough. It was gentle, if anything, and Cas gazed lovingly at Dean. It was a look that had Dean’s cheeks tingly with childish warmth. He rubbed his thumb over the veins along Dean’s wrist, smiling softly.

“No, I want to help. I won’t stay long,” he said, releasing Dean’s wrist.

“Okay,” Dean nodded. He lowered himself back onto the bed. It squeaked under his weight as he bounced up and down nervously. “Where do I start?”

“Here.”

Dean frowned when Castiel rested a hand on his chest, smoothing his fingers over the spot where his heart should be. Cas pressed lightly against the t-shirt that spread tightly over Dean’s shoulders and chest. He was growing into his body. _And quite nicely if I say so myself_ , he thought smugly. But before the touch got too uncomfortable, Cas retracted his hand and cleared his throat.

“Not to be cheesy, but what you want to say has to come from your heart. That’s where all of my poetry comes from. I base my writing from personal experiences, memories, and the emotions that accompany them.” He squinted slightly at Dean, who fidgeted under Cas’ stare. He couldn’t concentrate with Cas looking at him like that. It was distracting.

“Well, most of the memories of my dad aren’t good ones. So there goes that.”

“Make something of it,” Castiel challenged. “Think about it. If there was one thing you could say to him right now, what would it be?”

 _That he suffocated my childhood and that he should burn in hell_ , Dean grumbled. _What else can I say?_

“Um.” He scratched his neck as he pretended to think for Castiel’s sake. “Hey, John, you could have done a better job?”

Cas pursed his lips. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

“Hell yes I do. The guy was barely there for me or Sam. I practically had to raise the both of us and keep a roof over our heads. He didn’t care.”

“Don’t say that, Dean. Of course he did.”

“No, he didn’t!” Dean threw his fist against his knee. “All he ever cared about was his next beer or the next time he would have the opportunity to bash my face in. He never gave a damn about our wellbeing, so don’t you try to tell me otherwise.”

“You don’t think that your mother leaving him had its effect on him?” Castiel asked, rubbing his palm over face.

Dean huffed. “Yeah, ‘course it did. But what does that have to-”

“He tried, Dean. Maybe he didn’t try hard enough, but he probably tried to show how much he cared. His heartbreak was just too much for it to break through.”

Cas stood with a heavy heart. _Coming here was a bad idea._ He sighed shakily and showed himself the way out. When he reached Dean’s door, he turned to say goodbye.

“This was a mistake, seeing you. I’m sorry, for everything that’s happened since I’ve met you and what’s happened before. But think, Dean. Think hard about what’s been said and what you’ll never be able to say to him.” He rested a hand on the wall. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean watched as the light blinked from his life. He’s driven away so many people.

“No,” he growled. “ _He_ did.”

 _Are you sure about that, though?_ A tiny voice in Dean’s head argued with him, telling him that maybe Castiel was right. _If John didn’t care, then why did he make sure that there was always something to snack on in the pantry or a fresh carton of milk in the fridge? It was the little things he did that mattered the most. He tried, Dean. He tried._

_Would it be better to think that way? To imagine that he did try, or the ways that he did?_

Dean perked up at the mess of words that now appeared through his mind. He smirked at the thought of Castiel if he were still there, peeking over his shoulder as the string of words flowed from his thoughts to his fingertips. The hands on the clock hanging on Dean’s wall ticked the night away while he wrote furiously. It was only a few lines, but it was good enough for him. He’d never written much in his life, but this was something. And it was good.

٭

Dean pulled at his collar. The damn thing was as stiff as a board with the amount of starch Sam had attacked it with. He had worried about Dean “ _looking his best_ ” all morning, and Dean had tried to calm him down by reminding him how many people were going to actually be at the funeral.

Not counting him and Sam, there would be six people. Bobby probably didn’t count either because he was a given, so that made five. Cas and Gabe were already inside, waiting for Dean to return. He was supposed to start the ceremony any minute with the poem that Cas helped him write, but he was experiencing cold feet for the first time.

 _Probably not the last either,_ he thought, tugging at his tie this time. Everything was suffocating him. Even Sam standing too close to him was setting him off. If he didn’t strip down and let himself breathe, he was going to collapse, and two dead bodies wasn’t going to be better than one.

“Just relax,” Sam sighed for the last time. “Take a deep breath.”

He waited for Dean to obey, but instead he was met with an eye roll.

“Sam, this is ridiculous.”

“ _Deaaan._ ”

“Okay, fine, breathing.” He sucked in the biggest gulp of air he could and waited.

“Okay, now slowly exhale through your nose.”

Dean narrowed his eyes skeptically, but did as his little brother asked and-

“No, wait. Crap, I think it was the other way around.” Sam bit his thumbnail while he thought. “Was it in through the mouth and out through the nose? Or in through the- okay, never mind.”

He fidgeted with the cuff links that Gabe had let him borrow. Sweat collected on his brow, almost more than the river that was trickling down Dean’s neck. Sam was as much of a wreck as Dean was; he just had a better way of hiding it.

Dean was about to clap Sam on the back when his little brother surprised him. He jumped at Dean, snuggling his head onto the taller boy’s chest and wrapping his arms around Dean’s torso. Blinking back unexpected tears, Dean squeezed Sam close to him. He planted a kiss on that stupid mop of brown hair, breathing in the overwhelming scent of lilies. They were everywhere, serving as a constant reminder of why they were there.

Finally, Sam stepped out of Dean’s arms. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. With a weak smile, he marched back into the funeral home. Without looking back, he cleared his throat and called out, “If you don’t show up in two minutes, then I’m starting it without you.”

“I’ll be in there in a second,” Dean mumbled. He was breaking into a sweat. The heat had him sweating buckets, and the suit wasn’t helping.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Ignoring Sam’s earlier instructions, Dean exhaled through his mouth and opened his eyes to see the sun shining brightly above his head. The moment felt right. He was ready.

The funeral home was about as dead as the stiffs in the basement. The only people that sat in the rows of seats in front of the podium were Missouri, Bobby, Sam and the two Novaks that decided to show their support. Dean grinned weakly at Castiel, who responded with a twitch of his lips. _Good luck_ , his eyes murmured. Their blue haze washed over Dean, giving him the confidence to stand at the podium and speak to the handful of friends he trusted the most.

“I won’t waste your guys’ time, so I’ll jump right in:

“I know I’m not a man of words, but sometimes the time is just right and it’s the heat of the moment for inspiration. I’d like to share something with all of you that I wrote for our father, John Winchester. It isn’t much, but it came from the heart. And I’ve learned that that’s sometimes where the inspiration comes from.”

He cleared his throat, his tongue swelling against the roof of his mouth. It was like a dry piece of cotton scratching his throat as he pulled out a scrap of paper from his suit pocket. His eyes watered and the small poem turned into a blurry mess of squiggly lines. Dean panicked, thinking he couldn’t possibly carry on, but then he thought of Castiel. He imagined his gravelly voice reading the poem aloud. That thought alone moved him to begin:

“Not once did you say

_thank you,_

_you're welcome,_

Or better yet

_I love you._

But that's okay now.

 _We're_ okay now.”

Dean looked out into the nearly nonexistent crowd, searching for Castiel’s gaze. When their eyes met, a lump grew in the back of Dean’s throat. He choked on the next verse, the final verse. But when Cas’ lips twitched ever so slightly, his eyes glittering like the sun bouncing off the ocean’s waves, Dean found the courage to read on.

“I like to think you tried,

but your demons trapped the words

Or the cat had your tongue.

Maybe it was none of those,

but I like to think you tried.”

It was only a flicker, barely a second, but Dean saw it. He saw the golden curls that whisked past the doorway to his left, the one that led into the hallway. The thought whispered at the back of his mind, telling him to pursue the bouncing locks, but a not-so-subtle cough brought him back to the task at hand. He looked, dazed, at the person who had snapped him awake and saw Castiel, whose eyes pushed Dean to continue.

“S-so thank you

For the subtle love,

Whispered you're welcomes

And unspoken I love you's,

Because where would we be without them?”

Shivers ran down Dean’s back as he glanced at the closed casket to his right. He had imagined it. There hadn’t been a woman sneaking through the hallway, there couldn’t have been. She was too far away. It wasn’t possible.

Wind chimes danced in the breeze that passed through the cracked windows. The noise felt eerie to Dean after what he just experienced. Goosebumps grazed his arms and the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He tried to rub them away, but something grabbed his hand. It squeezed gently at first, but then quickly began to crush Dean’s fingers.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Dean!”

The gruff voice was loud in his ear, making Dean jump in his seat. _Wait a minute…_

“W-what?” he stuttered frantically. “What’s happening?”

The voice sighed, letting go of Dean’s hand. “The funeral’s finished and I’m taking Gabriel home. We would like to stay, but I think it would be best if we left you and your brother alone.”

Was that… Castiel’s voice? Dean blinked himself back to reality and realized that the funeral was indeed over. He must have zoned out after someone led him back to his seat. An entire funeral service had gone by, and he hadn’t even noticed. He missed his own father’s funeral.

“No, yeah, go. Thanks for coming,” he muttered, scrunching his eyebrows together.

When Castiel realized that Dean had nothing else to say, he left. No goodbye or a friendly pat on the knee; he grabbed Gabriel by the shoulder, who was hugging Sam tightly, and dragged him out the door. It seemed rude of Castiel, but Dean couldn’t blame him. Dean was too exhausted to blame anyone.

He had finally hit a wall, and now the entire weight of it was falling on him. There wasn’t an ounce of strength left in his muscles to hold himself together. He was done with everything and everyone.


	9. Nine

 

“Sa” – Dean hiccupped – “Sammy, please don’ do this. Jus’ gimme back the wine and I’ll be fi-fine.”

Sam stood over his brother, who lay drunk on the living room couch. He held a large bottle of wine in his hand, hoisting it out of Dean’s feeble reach.

“No, Dean, you’ve had enough today. Hell, you’ve had enough for a lifetime!” Sam shook his head and stormed into the kitchen. He dumped the rest of the dark red liquid into the sink while Dean wobbled his way over.

“Stop,” he groaned, blindly reaching out to grab Sam’s arm.

He lunged forward once he saw he was close enough, but he misjudged the distance. His body crashed to the floor, startling Sam who had been mesmerized by the steady stream of wine slithering down the drain. It seemed like it reflected his sanity, slowly disappearing down the drain with the wine. As he heard Dean land face-first on the tile floor, Sam snapped out of his hypnosis and focused his attention on his brother. Or rather, what was left of him.

Although Sam was small, he had the strength to hoist Dean up from the floor and back over to the couch. The six-foot-tall man was fast asleep, a deep purple bruise blossoming around his nose. Drops of blood trickled from his nostrils, leaving a trail down his chin. Sam sighed. He couldn’t take it any longer. Either Dean was going to get himself killed, or Sam was going to kill himself. The aggravation that surged through his veins whenever Dean came home from work drunk was overwhelming him. It was like their father had risen from the afterlife and possessed Dean, what with all the drinking he was doing.

Bobby. He wished Bobby would take him in and let Dean live by himself. _No,_ he thought. _I can’t leave Dean, not like this. I can’t lose the only family I have left._

The bittersweet smell of the red wine that Dean had been ingesting – no, inhaling – washed over Sam. He felt sick. The house constantly smelled like either a brewery or a distillery. There was no in-between.

 _This needs to stop_. Sam choked back his emotions. Should he hide the painful sensations that were overpowering his body for Dean’s sake, or should he do the opposite for the exact same reason? He needed to convince Dean to get a hold of himself. Otherwise he’d be joining their dad up in the big house in no time.

Before he woke Dean, Sam took a moment for himself. His lips formed a small circle, and he inhaled a large breath. Closing his eyes helped to block the bright light coming from the lamp to his right, but it didn’t stop the pounding in his head. He pushed the annoying throbbing of his temples aside and exhaled. He opened his eyes and slapped Dean across the face.

“Hmph th’ fuck?” Dean exclaimed groggily. His hand automatically flew to his cheek, a common instinct, but he flinched at his own touch. A light handprint was bright red across Dean's cheek. When he gingerly pressed his fingertips to the spot, it stung. He winced, throwing a dirty look Sam's way.

“What the hell was that for?”

“Seriously, Dean? Do you really need to ask?” Sam shook his head, clearly disappointed. “It's only been four days since the funeral and you've already gone through a case of beer, four bottles of wine, and two of whiskey. How are you not dead? I'm worried about you, but obviously nothing I've been saying is helping. You probably didn't even hear me.”

He hung his head low to hide his tears. There wasn't any energy left in him to argue with Dean, but maybe his lack of steam would show Dean just how tired he was.

Dean shifted in his seat so he was sitting rather than slouching on the couch. Sam didn't know it, but Dean was partly a wreck because of how much he had failed his own brother. He had tried so hard to keep this family together. Through the long shifts and extra hours he had thrown in to pay for school supplies and food, Dean had done it for Sam and only Sam. Now he could see that his heart and soul had been wasted on a family that fell apart at the seams because of their goddamn father.

That man was the reason behind all of their strife and hardships. The thousands of obstacles and decision they've had to put up with ever since their mom skipped town for another man. All because their father wasn't man enough.

Dean blinked slowly, squeezing the few salty drops from his eyes before looking at Sam. _Really_ looking.

And what he saw was a broken heart. Dean had disappointed his brother, who meant more than the world to him. If that didn't make him want to quit drinking and man up (unlike his father) then he didn't know what would.

“Sam,” his voice cracked and he cleared it before continuing. “This probably doesn't make up for what I've done, but I'll try and-”

“And what, Dean? Try and pick up the mess you've made? Good luck with that because starting next month you'll be in your final year at school. You'll either scramble to make things right or fall right back to this sad routine. And as much as I'll want to help you, I won't be able to because you'll be so far gone that...that...”

Sam cursed under his breath, barely holding back a flood of fresh sobs. He was trying so hard for Dean, who hadn’t bothered giving him the time of day mere minutes ago.

“But I won't. Sammy, listen to me. Look.” Dean propped Sam's chin up with his thumb and index finger, cupping it into his palm. “Look at me. Take my word for it. I will stop today, right this minute, because _you_ asked me to. I didn't take the time to realize that in hurting myself I was hurting you too. Please, let me fix this.”

There weren't enough words in the world to describe how desperate Dean was to fix what he had broken. He was the one who had disappointed his little brother. Sam had too much to live for, and he would have been able to chase his dreams if it weren't for his deadweight brother and a dead father who was better off that way.

If Dean's prayers hadn't been doing their job before, well then they better get going, otherwise there will be nothing left to rebuild of their two-pieced family.

“Okay,” Sam whispered, “but this is your last chance. I know that you feel like you messed up things with, well, everything, but don't let that hold you back. Don't give up on things just because it takes a little more effort to get that leverage you need to move forward. I believe in you, Dean.”

His small smile warmed Dean's heart, giving him that first glimpse of what their lives could be like if he decided to do something right for a change. Maybe he could stitch his life back together, one square at a time. Dean pulled Sam into a tight hug, kissing Sam's temple, and he realized he should do more of that. Show Sam the affection he deserves. Speaking of which...

“Enough about me and my shitty self,” he began. “How have you and Gabriel been?”

Sam squirmed in his seat, dropping his eyes to the floor. “I'm surprised you mentioned him. I guess this means that I'll have to tell you now rather than later...”

“Tell me what? Are you two running away to elope in Canada or something?” Dean chuckled despite the growing tension.

“Erm, no. It's about-” Sam licked his dry lips anxiously, not wanting to ruin the moment. “It's about Cas.”

Dean's eyes widened slightly and he blinked. That was not something he was expecting. He had thought Sam was going to ask for some tips with relationships, which Dean was obviously not good at. Hearing that name sent chills throughout his body, leaving an emptiness behind that only one person could fill.

“What about him?” His poker face was failing, and he strained himself to keep his composure.

“You won't like this, but-”

“Spit it out, Sam. Christ almighty.”

“He'smovingbacktoNewYork.” Sam sounded like he vomited alphabet soup as the jumble of words came out of his mouth. Dean stared at him for a second before even bothering to ask.

“Um, come again?”

Sam sighed. “He's moving back to New York.” His eyes were filled with sympathy, but Dean was okay. His nerves were still and there wasn't anything he could say except,

“Oh.”

He couldn't think straight. Cas was... leaving? He was here for the summer and that was it? When was this decided? So many questions filled his mind, but he didn't dare ask them. That would imply that he was actually curious and still heartbroken, which he was. He just didn't want to mention it.

“He said his train leaves in two days, Saturday, and that he's going to stop by tomorrow.” Sam uttered those last words cautiously as if Dean was a ticking time bomb, and he just said the triggering words to set Dean off.

But all he could say was,

“Oh.”

“Dean? Are you okay?”

_How long can I stay silent before Sam gets too worried?_

“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just surprised, that's all. Um,” he smiled nervously, but the smile was gone as quick as it came. “I'm going to cook dinner, if that's alright with you.”

“Dean-”

“Dinner, Sam. Go wash up and then come help me in the kitchen.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he hopped up and shuffled to the upstairs bathroom. As soon as Dean heard the click of the bathroom lock, he broke. His entire world crumbled before him, and Castiel had finally brought it to an end. There wasn't any way that Dean could solve that particular issue in his life now that Cas was up and leaving Lawrence in two days. He'd be here tomorrow, head bowed, and toe kicked a nonexistent speck of dust at his feet, wanting to make things right but also wishing that he actually could.

But he couldn't, nor would he, and Dean would have to learn to accept that.

٭

Thursday dissolved into Friday all too quickly, and suddenly Dean was met with having to face Castiel after being apart for who knows how long. He didn't think that he could go through with it as he went through the morning with anxiety bubbling in his veins.

Castiel had never specified what time he was going to stop by and that made Dean a nervous wreck. There weren't many times where Dean had been caught off guard, because those who knew him knew not to catch him by surprise. Despite his gruff demeanor, Dean was often a scared kitten at heart that jumps whenever a baby cries or someone sneezes.

Let's just say that Dean was a little on edge by the time the doorbell rang.

The sharp sound echoed throughout the house. Dean froze in his seat and the pencil he had been twirling in his fingertips sailed through the air, bouncing off the wall and landing by his feet. The sound came not once, but twice while Dean gathered the courage he needed just to leave his bedroom. He didn't know what to expect in the moment to come.

Dean wanted to let Castiel wait outside until he supposed that both Winchesters were out somewhere. He hadn't specified a time, so how were they to know when to be home? But judging by the Chevy parked outside, it was obvious that at least one of them was home. There goes that idea.

And he couldn't call on Sam for help either, because he was out yucking it up with Gabriel at the corner store. God knows if that was where they actually went. Dean was a little suspicious of Sam now, wondering if he was telling the truth when he left the house. Because when he returned, his lips were bruised by kisses and his hair was a wispy mess.

Yet Sam would just pat Dean on the shoulder, give him a swift kiss on the top of his head and bound up the stairs to his room. He was a curious teen, but maybe they were all like that. Had Dean been like that?

While Dean furiously thought of ways to delude Castiel, a resonating silence hooded the house. Clouds swept over the summer sun, cloaking the Winchester plot with a light shade. Dean's heart swelled unexpectedly, pockets of emptiness forming where Castiel had been, where his dad had been, where Mary had been. Suddenly, Dean was hyperaware of everything that surrounded him. He thought he was dying.

But then the doorbell lassoed him back to reality, and a peaceful calm washed over him.

Dean jogged down the stairwell and toward the front door. His palm fluttered hesitantly onto the door knob. He didn't want to talk to Castiel, didn't want to say goodbye, but he knew that if he didn't he would regret his decision for the rest of his life. Or for a really long time, anyway.

The door swooshed open, letting in a gust of hot, humid air. Castiel gasped softly. He turned around to face Dean -- he was sitting on the porch steps -- but that was the only move he made. One hand gripped the banister for dear life, the other was splayed across the floorboards. It was like he had molded himself to the house, determined to get what he came for.

Dean sweated profusely, from the heat and his nerves.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly.

Cas nodded, gulping noticeably. He was just as nervous about this as Dean was.

“Hello, Dean.”

The familiar phrase struck a nerve. Dean thought back to that train ride a month and a half ago. People always say how time flies past so quickly, but it isn't until there isn't any time left that the phrase actually sticks. Sure enough, Dean was filled with so many emotions, so many memories, his chest throbbed.

“You know why I'm here. Sam had to have told you.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah he did.”

The reality of the situation sunk in like the sun sinking into the horizon. Castiel closed his eyes momentarily, basking in the last of the warm light. Right then, as Cas opened his eyes, Dean knew it. He loved Castiel with every fiber in his being, but here he was, saying goodbye for possibly the last time.

“So this is it,” Dean whispered gruffly.

For some odd reason, Cas laughed. Not the kind of laugh that had your stomach aching for days afterword, but one that slowly tore you apart because it was drenched with anguish.

Cas scratched the thin scruff that was forming on his cheeks. The poor guy looked tired, like he hadn't sleep a wink since the funeral. Dean wondered if it was on his account.

“This is going to sound cheesy, actually worse than cheesy, but” -- by now Cas had released the post on the banister to lean his back against it instead – “can think back to when we danced in that house, when the whole world was ours, can you do that for me?”

“Of course, Cas, why?”

“Well, that's how I want you to remember us. I want you to remember the good times and,” Cas  added, his eyes darkening, “not now. Never now.”

“I was wrong, Dean. I'm sorry that I was, but this past summer was a waste for the both of us. Don't say anything, please.”

Cas had lifted a hand to stop Dean from interrupting. Although he could have disobeyed the lenient order, Dean stayed silent for both of their benefits. This didn't have to end on a bad note.

“I don't think I'm wrong about who I am, but I think that maybe I influenced you in the wrong way. This wasn't meant to happen, Dean. We're two different people, too different. Somehow we outlaw the belief that opposites attract. We rushed into things, and I'm glad that it stopped before we went too far.”

“How can you say that?” Dean muttered incredulously. “How can you say that this was a waste? I don't know about you, but despite what's happened, this has been one of the best summers of my life.”

“That's not true.”

“Damn straight it is! I met you, Cas. You brought a light into my life I never knew existed. The whole world is brighter because of you. I think I've become a better person because of you. The drinking's a problem, but I know you can help me with it. But that's if you stay.”

Dean swallowed the thick wad of saliva that had built in his mouth. It hung at the back of his throat, and he realized that they were words, words that had to be said. But Dean didn't believe in himself enough to voice them. He had never needed something -- or someone -- so much before.

“Cas, I- I need you. Stay.”

No. Castiel shook his head. No.

“I can't, Dean. Things have... changed. I've taken time to reflect on the summer, school, and us. Things aren't the same, and we can't fix it. Mostly because there isn't anything we can fix.  This needs to end as easily as possible, and now is the best time.”

Dean watched as Castiel stood. The setting sun's golden rays cascaded across the sky behind Castiel, making him look like one of heaven's angels. An angel who was making the best of his free will by taking it from the hands of those who hid it from him. Cas was going to live life for himself from now on, and all Dean had to do was let him go.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, pursing his lips. “You can leave then. Fucking leave, and don't set foot on this stoop again.”

His tone was surprisingly calm, but Cas trembled in its wake.

“You need to understand-”

“No.”

“Dean, don't do this-”

“Leave,” he growled.

And that was that. Cas' head bowed in defeat. He had come to make amends, but now he was leaving behind an unresolved argument. That was just it though, with Dean nothing could be resolved, not easily anyway. Maybe years down the road, when they're both married and have kids and are living the life they want to live, they could reunite and approach the issue they had turned away from so long ago.

As Castiel walked away, Dean sat where he had stood. He gnawed on his bottom lip as the light faded and the last of summer slipped from his grasp. In one moment, he had lost everything.

School was in a month. Soon he would be busy with graduating and figuring out what to do with himself after high school was over. He had no idea what he wanted to study in college, if he could afford it. He'll work at the shop by himself, maybe hire Bobby if he needs an extra hand.

Tomorrow Cas would be departing Lawrence, Kansas, for who knows how long. Maybe forever.

The day after, he'll be miles away.

And sitting on that paint-chipped porch step, Castiel driving off to pack for his new home, Dean wondered how long he'll last until he'll need a beer. He also wondered how he's lasted this long, and how he isn't dead yet.


	10. Ten

It’s been almost a month now.

Summer had been officially over a few weeks ago. School was raising its hell just like it always did, and Dean was suffering.

In every window he passed by, every hallway he walked through, every classroom he sat in, he saw _him_. His eyes, those damn chapped lips, the hair that stuck out every which way when he took off his hat; and then those hands, the same ones that used to curl and twist to mold with Dean’s, running smoothly over the curves of his back. It was hell, one that was licking at Dean’s heels every time he tried to run.

He couldn’t run fast enough.

Although one day, he thought he had. He ran from the house, ignoring Sam’s worried calls from the second story window. Dean ran down the street, far away from the memories that accompanied his front porch and the pen that sat still, untouched, on his desk. His eyes still burned with the memory of that piece of shit car rolling down his driveway and out into the street, the same street that Dean was pounding away on.

His breath soon came in spurts. In no time his lungs would burst and his legs would fall off. Dean couldn’t fathom why he was running, but he knew that he had to, he just _had_ to. Maybe it was to blow off steam, or the energy that’s been wasted on drinking. Speaking of which, he could feel last night’s binge bubbling in his stomach. He felt sick.

The paved road was long since gone; he was running through the trees now. Elms and evergreens whizzed past him as he pushed through his final sprint. The beer was slithering up his esophagus now, boiling at the back of his throat. He doubled over, tripping to a halt, and threw up the acidic bile.

Dean heaved for what seemed like an hour. The nasty yellow-green mucus that shot from his mouth kept coming, spewing from his lips like Niagara Falls. When it finally stopped, Dean fell to his knees, barely missing the puddle of sick at his feet. He moaned, gripping his torso tightly against the pain. His eyes rolled in their sockets until they were met with a familiar sight.

This _is where my feet brought me?_ Dean groaned. Everything was immediately worse.

It was the abandoned house, still rotting in the same places it had been back in July when Dean had been there last. There were bird’s nests nestled in the crooks of broken window panes. A sapling had begun to rise from the cracked foundation, the only sign of life besides the damn birds. Dean brushed himself off slowly, straightening his back. Half of him wanted to go inside, but the other half told him it was a bad idea.

_Why not? Will it hurt that bad?_

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

As he made his way down the familiar path, a numb pain pulsated in his chest. His throat constricted, making his breath shallow. He walked up the chipped white steps until he stood on the front porch. The atmosphere around him thickened, and he gasped for air. Suddenly the world was spinning and tears were prickling at the corners of Dean’s eyes.

_Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea._

The words ran through his mind like they were being written furiously over a blank page. Dean gripped his head on both sides, trying to block out the heartache. He hadn’t expected it to be this overwhelming, but he ached for Castiel. Every bone in his body ached for that boy, but he was lost.

Dean had screwed up his chances, and now he wondered if it was worth the fight. There was no way that Castiel would speak to him now. Maybe it was better off this way, maybe it wasn’t. Dean didn’t know what to think at this point.

When Castiel had come to help him write that poem for his father’s funeral, there was a soft love between them, but it was more platonic than anything. Dean had screwed everything up, just like he always did.

 _Where’s a beer when you need one?_ Dean sighed, sniffling back the last of his shuddering sobs. He leaned his back against one of the posts attached to the porch railing. Staring at the house, he thought about what was going to come next for him. He figured that school would have to be his main priority despite how much he couldn’t take it any longer. And now that he had to take full responsibility of the house and Sammy, Dean wondered if he would even be able to afford his senior year. Books alone were going to be troublesome, and it wasn’t like the school was asking for much. It was cheap, but the cost of living was what worried Dean. How was one measly job at the shop, which he now worked at alone, going to pay for two growing teens?

Dean pushed himself away from the post, down the steps and away from the house. He needed to think, maybe talk. Bobby would listen to him, Sam would too, but they knew about all the problems that Dean had to deal with. He had complained countless times about them already. He needed a fresh face, but there was no one. Cas was completely out of the picture, and Benny was busy with the transferring paperwork and all that jazz.

_I guess it’s just me, myself and I._

And then there was the giant pink elephant in the room that was leering at Dean from its corner. All of Dean’s neighbors, the whole town was talking about it. He was pretty damn sure the whole world was too, considering the circumstances. He wasn’t ready for it, no one was.

_War._

Dean had barely missed the first one, being born only a few years later, but he had heard plenty of war stories from his dad. All he knew was that it’s gruesome and a pain in the ass to deal with. People were talking about a draft, and President Roosevelt was set on having one. The country needed it.

But Dean was worried, mostly about Cas. Dean himself was clear since he was turning 18 in January. There was a good chance that he might be drafted then, but he would deal with that when it came around. October was fast approaching, and Castiel was well past the legal age. He had turned 19 in August, a dangerous age for a boy during a time of war. There was no backing out, unless Castiel decided to take the school route. Dean supposed that’s what would happen, but he couldn’t be sure.

He was worried sick. He knew that September would fly by and so would the days leading up to the announcement of the draft. He wished he could stop it, but he had no power over it. There was only one thing he could do: pray.

**٭**

Even though he and Castiel had ended on a bad note, Dean couldn’t help but sweat profusely as the first day of the draft rolled around.

Cas was happy in New York by now. He’d probably settled in nice and comfy the day he got there. Dean wondered if he ever crossed Cas’ mind, but the chances were bar none. Cas had probably found his soul mate by now. It was either that or he had hundreds of girls and guys alike flocking by his side, all itching for a date with the alluring man with the ice blue eyes.

After Castiel had left, school had arrived and Dean was swamped. With his job at the shop and now the night shifts at Harvelle’s over the weekends, Dean barely had enough room to breathe. He was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet, either at work or at home.

His and Sam’s nightly past time transformed from them doing who-knows-what in their rooms into them listening to the radio that was hooked up in the corner of the living room. Bobby had found it at some junk yard and fixed it up for them. He told them to consider it as an early Christmas present… for the next five years. Dean was happy to take it, because when October suddenly appeared from the shadows, war was the only thing anyone ever talked about.

When the night of the first lottery came around, Dean was on the edge of his seat, chewing at his fingernails until a few of them were cut and bloody. Sam sat next to him on the couch, an arm draped over his brother’s broad shoulders. It was going to be a long night for the both of them.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried.”

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean huffed, his voice hoarse, “you know why.”

“Okay, yeah, I do. But you really don’t need to be.”

“And why is that?”

Sam withdrew his arm and faced his brother. “Because Cas is smart, both street- and book-wise. He’ll probably end up taking the school route to get out of serving.”

Dean sat up straight. He hadn’t even thought of that. Of course that’s what Cas was going to do. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Castiel would give up a good college education for serving in the army. The fact that Dean had actually thought he would was ridiculous.

“I-”

“Hadn’t even thought of that. Yeah, I guessed that much.”

Leaving Dean to silently rejoice and wipe the sweat from his brow, Sam walked up to his room. It was late, and he had a chemistry test the next morning that he had to worry about.

“Sam?”

It was barely above a whisper, but Dean’s voice carried through the silence. Sam turned at his name, frightened by the tone that accompanied it.

“Yeah?” He had one hand on the railing; he didn’t want to commit to the unsettling atmosphere that was creeping up behind him, so he gripped the rail tighter.

“Cas may have gotten out of it,” Dean said softly, almost like if the words he spoke were heard by the right people – or the wrong – they might become the truth. “But I don’t think I will come January. And if that happens, which it will, I just want you to know that-”

“Don’t, don’t say it, Dean. We are not having this conversation.”

“Sam, we need to.”

“No we don’t!” Sam exploded, letting go of the railing at last. “I don’t want to talk about how in three months’ time you could be shooting Nazis overseas somewhere, or how they could be shooting you. I can’t talk about the possibility of seeing you come home before the war’s done, in a casket. We will _not_ have that talk tonight.”

Dean nodded. Everything he had been ready to say Sam had ripped from his mouth and tossed them out the door. They wouldn’t talk about it. They would wait until the last minute, until Dean was in his uniform and halfway out the door. That’s when Sam would say ‘I love you’ and ‘please come home when you’re supposed to, not when you have to’.

So Dean let Sam have his moment, let him storm up the stairs and cry alone in his room because of the possibility of his brother leaving him in three months for one year, and then maybe more. Dean thought about having a drink to wash down the sour taste in his mouth, but he figured that wouldn’t be fair. Not to Sammy. Not now. Not for a very, very long time.

٭

After the draft in October, knowing that Castiel was already two months into college and safe from the dreaded picking, Dean spent the next two months in quiet reverie.

What did that mean for Dean Winchester?

It meant long nights stationed at the window in his room, wanting to put his feelings into words or thoughts, but not knowing how. He wished he had a familiar hand to guide him through the writing process, teach him things unknown that are probably meant to stay unknown.

Dean would have never understood the power of words if he hadn’t met Castiel. He would have lived the rest of his life saying ridiculous things during events in his life in which the words he spoke affected him tremendously.

Perching on the windowsill on a cold December night, one week after Christmas, the night before New Year’s Eve, Dean tried to grasp the concept of communication and depth and love and life. But he got nowhere. He attempted to remember all the moments he spent with Castiel, deciding whether or not what he had felt was real, or if it was a fairytale.

Had he dreamt the entire summer? Had he only imagined he found love when he actually just wasted precious time flirting with the possibility of love? Had it all been _worth it?_

Dean sighed and rested his forehead against the window pane. His skin jumped at the chilled glass, but after a moment, relaxed.  The bitter winter air howled against the house.

For a brief moment, the world simply stopped. There were no worries or deadlines, no bills to pay, no notices to fret over. It was just Dean, sitting in the silence, as he was suspended between time and space. It was an odd feeling, sort of like when you’re driving home alone at night and it’s like you can feel the earth _breathing_. That’s how Dean felt, like he could feel time _breathing_ and _whispering_ secrets to him that no one else knew.

What exactly was it whispering? Dean couldn’t tell for sure. He could only make out mumbling over whether or not the Cincinnati Reds were going to win the World Series again next season. Dean thought that was something stupid for _time_ to be gossiping about, but he wasn’t in a position to say. He wondered if he was the only one tuning in to this private radio station, or if someone else was listening as well.

And right then, agonizingly earth-shattering loneliness struck Dean. He felt it gnawing at his insides, trying to tear him apart from the inside out, but he wouldn’t let it. After all, he wasn’t alone, because Sam was in the next room over, reading yet another text book. But still, the gap between them was big enough to fill Dean with doubts about whether or not he would achieve the happiness he wanted in life. There was no way in hell he deserved it, but he still wanted it. He wanted it, but he wanted Sam to have it even more.

Sitting there in his room, Dean decided to take Sam for out a walk. Maybe they could go to the park. If they did, then they would have to take the car instead, but nonetheless Dean needed to get out of the house.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean called, listening for signs of his brother rustling in his bed to answer.

Sam needed to get out of the house, too. They both had been cooped up for too long.

“Yeah?” Was his response.

“Grab your jacket, we’re headed out soon.”

There was a brief silence. Dean wondered if Sam knew the reason behind this abrupt family outing. “Okay.”

Sam would oblige to Dean’s itching desire to blow the stink off themselves. They would walk to the park for the extra exercise and sit beneath the tall oak that stood alone. Back to back, they would stare across the open place and enjoy the tranquility of the moment. They would forget about what had happened and what was about to happen.

Because in one month’s time their worlds would be turned upside down, and neither of them were ready for it.


	11. Eleven

“I’ll be getting a letter in less than a week, Bobby.”

“I know, boy, I know. Don’t remind me.”

Dean fiddled with his thumbs, his elbows resting at the edge of Bobby’s kitchen table. He and Bobby had been thinking a lot about his registration lately. It was going to affect all of them, and Dean wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.

“Can I count on you to look after Sam?” He chewed furiously at his lip to keep it from quivering. He wasn’t in the mood for this conversation, but with the little time he had left it had to be addressed.

“Dean, for the umpteenth time, yes. You know you can,” Bobby rolled his eyes.

With Dean’s constant queries about Sam, and how will Sam survive the rest of middle school, and how will Sam this and how will Sam that, Bobby was the most tired of the three of them. He was working his ass off at the hunting store down the street from the auto shop, trying to rake in the cash that he and Sam would need when Dean was gone.

They had to be ready in case he didn’t come back, which of course he would. There was no reason to think otherwise. It only made them even sicker with worry.

“Sorry, I just” – he sighed, hunching over in his seat – “can’t even deal with having to leave Sam, or you. I’m going to be a wreck without either of you.”

“You know you don’t have to go worrying about me. I’m a grown man.”

Huffing rather indignantly, Bobby softened when he saw that Dean was more of a mess than he let on. When Dean’s shoulder began to shake ever so slightly, he laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“I can’t say that everything will turn out for the best, son,” he admitted gruffly. “But I can say this.”

Dean raised his head from his hands so that only his eyes were visible. They were watery, but not tear-soaked. Out of all the people to cry to, Bobby wasn’t on the top of his list. But Dean was so _tired_ that he didn’t care anymore. Not now, and not for a while.

“You’re the strongest kid I’ve ever seen. With all the shit your old man has put you through, I think war is going to be only a little worse. You can handle being yelled at, or ordered at, or whatever they call it.”

Bobby smiled halfheartedly, patting his godson on the back before he stood. Dean gazed at him fondly, wishing that somehow life could be different. But it wasn’t, nor would it ever be.

He had been kicked and stomped on his entire life, but Dean never gave up a fight. He fought on until every part of him was sore and every inch of bare skin was bleeding. Being the fighter he was, Dean was a born leader, and the army wouldn’t be any different.

٭

Standing at the door, he couldn’t believe he was there again. No matter how many times Dean turned his back, he was always drawn back to this place. Whether it was the memories or the lustful hope that had fallen through the cracks all those months ago, he still wasn’t sure.

The house sagged, barely holding its own weight. It pained Dean to see it this way. He hadn’t seen it when it was alive, but he could imagine it as it was.

_Always in the shade, it was protected on hot summer days. A few kids on their bikes would cruise by, maybe ring their bells at the couple who resided in the glowing country home._

_The couple that would sit on an Adirondack loveseat swing on their porch. One read Gatsby, the other Wuthering Heights. Both tragic love stories, both lost in mystical worlds. There wasn’t any talking of course, only silent acknowledgments that the other was well, and breathing._

_But when it came to dinner, it was all talk and barely any eating. That’s why they would choose small, hale, and hearty meals while they chit chatted away about anything that was on their minds._

_One would constant chirp about the neighbor’s garden, wishing that they had their own to plant exotic flowers and fresh vegetables. Oh, how our garden would shine amongst the others, they would say, sighing in longing at the fabled dream._

_The other wouldn’t hear their partner’s desires, too lost in their own to focus on their loved one. Daydreaming of a faraway place with great castles and knights in shining armor, he or she immersed themselves in fantasies too great for their own imagination._

_Both were so deep in their own thoughts that they soon grew apart, forgetting about the other entirely._

_The gardener decides to build his dream greenhouse in the backyard, but without an extra hand it fails miserably._

_The dreamer disappoints by driving off to their faraway palace, only to land them submerged the ocean, the key still in the ignition._

“Oh god,” Dean whispered, tearing up at his morbid imagination. It was terrible enough that the letter he clutched in his palm was ripping his heart apart. He didn’t need for his mind to do the same.

Raising a hand to wipe a tentative thumb along the edge of the door jamb, he reminded himself that this visit had to be quick. The train left in an hour, and it would take that amount, if longer, to go through his belongings one last time and get to the station.

Dean didn’t want to go.

He had to. It was a duty he owed to his country. However strong his need was to fulfill that duty, he still resented the fact he was leaving Sammy on his own.

 _Not completely alone,_ he remarked.

Sam would be living with Bobby while Dean was away, and that made Dean feel a little better about leaving because he knew that Bobby would do his best in looking after him. He wouldn’t let Dean down, not like his father did.

Inexplicable warmth wrapped around Dean’s body. Clouds brewed stormily up ahead and the trees surrounding him swayed. He could sense that there was a storm approaching, and it was going to be a big one. Yet, for some reason, Dean felt calm. Normally, he was the pessimist, always reminding others of the bad side to every situation, but standing on that abandoned porch, Dean could feel himself mending.

Although what was once whole was now shattered into an infinite amount of shards, Dean could hear them rattling. They were reaching out to each other to try and piece back together what was broken.

Dean smiled.

It wasn’t a grin that stretched ear to ear, but it was a start.

He brought the crumpled envelope around to rest in both hands. The parchment inside was worn from the countless times he had smoothed it out on Bobby’s kitchen table and folded back into his pocket. Slipping it from its crisp jacket, Dean opened the letter once more to read a line that had sealed his fate.

_You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States._

Dean’s stomach dropped as the reality of the situation sunk in. It was strange how when he read the letter the first ten times that he hadn’t felt a thing. No sadness, no anything. He had been numb to it.

Now, as he stood before a life he wished he had taken advantage of, an overwhelming sensation wracked his body, leaving him weak and exposed. The sun, peeking through the dark clouds, shined brightly in his eyes. Dean blinked away the white spots at the corners of his vision, and suddenly the pain was gone. He was left with nothing but warmth once again as the clouds moved on and the sunlight remained.

However hopeful that message from nature was, it didn’t make up for the fact that Dean had lost his own sunlight.

“That was my fault, Cas,” he mumbled, wet drops spreading across the notice once again crumpled between his fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

Dropping the envelope, the notice shoved inside, Dean turned away from the house and its memories. He had a train to catch soon, and he couldn’t let his past hold him back from earning himself a better future.

But as he trudged through the dusty pathway leading to the street, where his purring hunk of metal awaited him, a familiar, jazzy tune found its way to Dean’s ear. And he smiled, humming lightly to the song that had started this crazy ride, the same one that brought him to where he was now.

_“And I seem to find the happiness I seek_

_when we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek_.”


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, the end. I hope you enjoyed the story! It was a long five months to write this baby. Then the few months afterwards to edit it with my amazing beta Brianna. I would not be posting if she hadn't broken down and rebuilt this story! Thank you love! Also a HUGE thank you to Kelsey, my AMAZING artist. I can't believe how incredible she is at what she does. I was speechless when I saw her work for this story. She deserves an infinite round of applause. Thank you to everyone involved in the making of this story. And thank YOU for reading it! Enjoy!

**Late August 1945**

“Good to see you man.”

“You look great!”

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Got any good stories?”

Dean chuckled his way through the bombardment of questions. Everyone was curious as to how he managed to survive the past five years, and to be honest, even Dean doesn’t know how. He does know, however, that he’s finally home, and for good.

He was back in Lawrence for most likely the last time before he headed off to New England, the promise land for wayward men like him. The alluring cities of Massachusetts, preferably Boston, were calling his name, and Dean was itching for a bit of fishing.

“Not many,” he replied, not bothering to try and remember. “And even if there were any famous war stories of mine to tell, I wouldn’t be able to recall them. The military sort of wipes your mind clean as soon as you get a glimpse of home.”

The stranger nodded with a smile that was spread too tightly across their lips to be genuine. Once Dean had shaken the man’s hand, the guy wandered off to find someone else more interesting, someone that wasn’t still haunted by the fatal cries that always accompany battle.

Everyone was celebrating the end of the war in the same cul-de-sac where Dean had been five years prior for the annual Fourth of July party. He tried not to think of that day, but sitting in an Adirondack chair in the Jefferson’s front yard, he couldn’t help but reminisce.

 _No,_ he scolded himself, _not today. Of all days, not today, because there’s a tiny chance that he could-_

“…stop by.”

Dean shook his head. A tall figure towered over him, their shadow shielding him from the heat of the sun.

“Sorry, say that again, Sammy?”

The eye roll that Sam had long since perfected could have been heard from miles away.

“I said you’ll never guess who’s going to stop by,” he remarked with a musical tone.

Sitting in his chair, a cool glass of Jack Daniels in his hand, Dean began to sweat. He could guess who it was. He was just afraid to say it out loud.

“Who?” He asked, feigning curiosity.

Sam pursed his lips. “I know you know who, but I’ll say his name anyway. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it. It’s Cas. Cas is coming.”

Butterflies. Dean expected butterflies or some surge of anxiety through his veins. But as he fiddled with his glass, staring at Sam’s scuffed loafers, there was nothing. Not even a tiny flip of excitement.

Dean was about to answer, his lips parted – however, nothing really came out of his mouth, nothing coherent anyways – but a gravelly voice interrupted him before he could utter a word.

“Actually, Cas is already here.”

Both Winchesters were at a loss for words. It was one thing talking about seeing Cas, but it was another to _actually see him._

Sam almost knocked him over, smothering Cas in a bear hug. Although he was five years younger than Castiel, Sam was about a foot or two taller. His arms could have wrapped around Cas’ torso twice, possibly three times. But before Sam could suffocate the college graduate, he released him at just the right time, like it was a daily routine. And it was.

“I’ll go grab you a drink,” Sam chirped, happy to be reunited with an old friend.

As Sam ran to the coolers, Cas called, “A water would be great!”

He smiled as Sam threw him a thumbs up. Then he turned his attention, at last, to Dean.

For a moment, they were speechless. At least Dean was. A million different things he could say flew through his mind, but they passed too quickly for him to pick one. Five years was spread out between them. Five years of absolutely no contact, no sporadic “how are you’s”, nothing. It weighed heavily on Dean’s shoulders. The air was as stale as it had been the afternoon they met. Dean could have sworn he heard the faint whistle of the train chugging by.

“How are things?” Castiel asked.

His lips didn’t waver with uncertainty, nor did his eyes – those damn blue eyes – twinkle with a hint of insecurity. Dean sighed internally. _Cas_ was _always the one to confidently place one foot forward ahead of the rest of us_.

“Good, good. How are things for you?”

A twitch of the nose, hesitation at the lips. Castiel hung his head slightly.

“Rough,” he replied truthfully. That’s all he said.

The party continued on during the silence that followed Castiel’s ambiguous reply. Dean fidgeted uncomfortably, although he tried to do so subtly. He didn’t know what to say, and this was what he had feared. There was nothing he could say to move the conversation along, or at least nothing he could think of. He was going to wordlessly say goodbye to Castiel again because of his terrible habit of being tongue-tied.

“Did you ever think of me,” Cas blurted out, “when you were enlisted?”

The question was so unexpected that Dean went slack-jawed and slid off his chair onto the warm, freshly-cut grass. He didn’t know why Cas would ask such a thing, or why he would want to know the answer. But he gave Cas what he was looking for because Dean couldn’t lie to those pair of twinkling galaxies or slightly-chapped lips.

“Yeah, I” – Dean stuttered, rushing to get the words out – “I did.”

Castiel smiled softly, dragging his tongue thoughtfully over his lips, teasing Dean with the fantasy of kissing them for one last time. In a blink, the smile was gone, replaced with a stern nod.

“Well.” Cas straightened his deep navy blue tie and tugged on his suit coat. “It was nice to see you again, Mr. Winchester.”

This was it. Dean’s heart pounded against his chest, and with every beat, Castiel was drifting farther and farther away. He cleared his throat to mask the ragged edge to his voice.

“It’s always nice to see you, Cas.”

 “You know, I really haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

And they go on. Two different men leading two different lives. Once in a while, they’ll stop whatever they’re doing and gaze off into the past. As cliché as it sounds, it’s what will happen for a very long time, until they’re both old men, hair graying by the second. They’ll stop and remember. Whether it’s the first time they laid eyes on each other, or their first dance, or their final goodbyes, it doesn’t matter. Because beyond them is something greater, so they go on, at peace with the memories.


End file.
